Special Delivery
by SoloFalcon
Summary: A three-week silence from Booth has the Squint Squad wondering what's wrong with their favorite FBI agent. A special delivery package arrives at the Jeffersonian.
1. Chapter 1

"There he is!"

Skidding to a stop on gravel as a rush of adrenaline flashed through him. Throwing a lighting swift glance around, seeking an escape. Eyes falling on a shadowed door leading into a nearby warehouse.

"Roberts! Powell! This way!"

Crashing splinter of shattered wood. Searing agony jolting through him, gut and leg as he slammed his foot into the door. Ignoring the pain, darting forward, out of the betraying moonlight. Into the black depths of the warehouse. Moving with furtive, fugitive instinct towards where the darkest shadows promised concealment.

Crunching footsteps on gravel behind him. Shouts from his pursuers, almost as loud as his own ragged breathing and pounding pulse. Turning at bay, ready to ambush from the darkness.

"C'mon…he went this way…"

Watching two shadows as they paused in the moonlit rectangle of the doorway. One shadow raising an arm, blocking the other. "No…"

Eyes watching, body tensing in readiness, slipping back further into the darkness.

"What? C'mon, Keane…we got him now!"

"No. Wait." The bigger shadow pulling something from his pocket. Gun? No, cell phone. Musical chirps of a number being dialed, sounding too cheery in the blackness.

Sidling around a crate, scanning his surroundings with a calculating glance. Windows. Too high. Back door. None. Only exit. Blocked.

"Hey, Cap. He went to ground."

Gaze going again to the blocked doorway, watching one shadow step to the edge and glance at the shattered door's sign. "Warehouse. Alveriz Freight and Shipping. Yessir." '_Snick_'. The cell phone snapping shut.

"We wait here."

Eyes adjusting to the gloom, scanning for an escape, or anything to use as a weapon. There. Slipping sideways between crates, eyes falling on the top of one, doing a quick inventory. Nail gun. Crowbar. Rags. Wire. Pliers.

Reaching and lifting, and pain flared. Quickly switching hands, adjusting grip. Feeling a surge of renewed optimism with weapon in hand.

Edging back closer to the door, weighing the chance of an enraged rush. Stopping with a growl of frustration as new silhouettes join the first two.

"But…we got him pinned! Roberts and Powell can watch the door and we go in and…"

"No way, kid… Cap'n said to lock it down…we lock it down…all we gotta do is keep him contained until Sarge and his team get here."

"But…"

A new voice speaking. "Hey, Kid…did you _see_ what he did to Vargas?"

"Yeah." Anger in the voice. "He fucked him up real bad, man…"

"Right… and he did it with his hands _cuffed_, kid… _Behind_ his back…"

Baring teeth in a feral smile even as he slips back away from the door again, listening as they continue to speak.

"Holy shit…" Now a twinge of fear mingling with the anger.

"Yeah. So…when Cap says to wait…we wait. Roberts, you and Powell stay out front. Me an' Tom'll wait just inside the door here. Ain't no way he's going anywhere now. Sarge's on his way…he'll get'em."

"You know…I wouldn't wanna be that bastard when Sarge and Cap get their hands on him…"

Grin fading into a determined scowl, eyes weighing his choices again, calculating. Trading nail gun for the crowbar, grabbing some of the rags. Fading into the depths of the building, searching for an escape.

Sliding from shadow to shadow, cursing the occasional sound that breaks the silence. One futile, stealthy circuit of the building taking him back to the moonlit doorway to pause and assess the situation, listening to his captors as their voices drift to him on the night.

"Hey, Keane…Cap just called. Sarge'll be here in five minutes. Any sign of him?"

"Heard some noise a little while back, but nothing else,"

"Hey, you know…Vargas worked him over pretty good before the bastard got loose…ya think maybe he went and died on us already?" A low chuckle.

A challenging snort. "_You_ wanna go in an' take a look?"

"Um…nah…"

"Didn't think so…"

"Hell, ain't nowhere he can go, anyways. They won't be shipping anything out of here 'til Monday…so there's time. We get more men in here…we'll find him."

Moving with swift purpose, back to the crate with the tools. Juggling crowbar, nail gun, wire, pliers and rags. A low moan breaking from him as his injuries scream a protest. Ignoring the pain. Moving deeper into the center of the room, searching for a defendable position.

There. Moving to where a tall crate stands next to a stack of smaller ones, creating a dark cave. Recessed, defensible, his own personal Alamo.

Stumbling to a stop next to the large crate. Leaning in exhaustion against it, mind racing, staring blindly, the letters stenciled on the crate swimming woozily before him before he regains focus.

Eyes widening in surprise before glancing upwards at the top of the crate then around its side in measured re-assessment. Hesitating slightly before setting his tools on a smaller crate. A smile widening before he grabs the crowbar again, plan in motion.

Cringing as a loud crash resounds throughout the building. Pausing, listening for sounds of renewed pursuit and then sagging in relief at faint words carrying on the night, still distant.

"What was that?"

"Dunno, but keep an eye on those windows…he might be trying to climb out'em."

Scoffing scorn floating with an echo through the building. "Yeah, like he's what, Batman or something? Aint no way."

Silence returning to the building, broken only by the soft sounds that travel no farther than his own ears. Working quickly, each move carefully planned and executed.

Smaller container, moved quietly aside. Wire, '_snip_', cut, twisted in place. Nail gun, placed 'just so'. Scrape of wood on wood, squeaking in protest, and a pained grunt, escaping involuntarily and sounding loud in the now close confines.

_Pop. Pop. Pop._

"What the hell was _that_?" Words floating out of the darkness.

Grinning in the darkness at the bewildered question. Smile slanting with pain as he braced himself, twisting, stretching, and ignoring his body's screaming protests.

_Pop, pop, pop_.

Clattering thud of a dropped tool. Vision dimming as liquid fire raced up his arm. Panting, gasping, pulling it upwards protectively, grey vision darkening to black.


	2. Chapter 2

"No." The voice was flat as the man behind the desk shook his head and eyed the younger man that was pacing with restless agitation in front of it. "You don't even know where he is. I can't authorize…"

The pacing man stopped short and whirled to face the speaker, his tan suit jacket flaring as he aggressively planted his hands on his hips. "Sir, we know he's near the wharf. We've traced the call from there."

Heaving a pained sigh, the man behind the desk met the blue eyes that were staring daggers through him. Softly, he started to refuse, "I'm sorry, Bass, it's just not enough…"

The younger man ran a hand through his sandy brown hair in frustration. His face twisted in guilt, pain, and pleading, ""Dammit, Tyler." He dropped the 'sir' in his frustration, his eyes boring into his superior's. "Look. He's done a _lot_ for us. Stuff he didn't _need_ to do." He stepped closer to the desk, leaning over earnestly. "He's in _trouble_. He's my _partner_." He stressed the last word meaningfully before he continued, his voice softer, "And he's a friend."

His eyes dared the man behind the desk to refuse again, pleading angrily.

Tyler sighed. Blinking, he stared at the shiny top of the desk in front of him. The silence stretched for long moments between the two men before he nodded slowly, "Alright, Bass. Get a team together…"

Before the words were fully out of his mouth, the other man was moving towards the door. "Thanks, boss."

Tyler watched the man disappear into the depths of the office, a handful of men falling in behind him, moving in swift concert. He sighed again.

* * *

Darkness. Opening eyes to continued blackness.

The sound of his own labored breathing. The moist heat of his own breath bouncing back at him from a surface too close to his face. Muscles trembling with fatigue and lingering adrenaline.

Ears picking out sounds of muffled commands and directions floating from beyond him. Curses. Shouted words.

"Check back here."

"Where the hell is he?"

A bone-rattling crash. The sound of splintered wood nearby. Sudden pounding in his own ears as his heart raced. A yowl of surprise and disgust.

"Aw! Geez! Fuck, that's gross!" New voices join with groans of aversion. Too many. He breathes shallowly, ignoring the pain it brings and the light-headed rush. Mustn't be heard.

"We found some blood over by the far wall… some tools lying around. Nothing else."

"Keep looking."

"Yessir."

Tensing as the sounds of feet move closer. Grunts mingling with muttered curses and new crashes. Trying to count numbers by sounds, voices, footsteps.

"Hey, Sarge! Cap just got word…we're gonna have company…real soon!"

"Fuck!"

"Yeah. The bastard musta got word out."

Lips twisting in a feral, satisfied grin, creating new pain. A new pain? No, just an old pain revisiting, pulling at lips and eyes and face. A good pain, clearing the creeping blackness for a moment.

"Ok. Let's get outta here. Tell our guy to keep his ears open. This sonofabitch surfaces, I want him _dead_."

"Yessir."

Surging hope at the words quickly falls as heavy breathing reaches his ears. Nearby, way too near. Tensing in anticipation, controlling his own breathing to shallow, silent gasps.

Movement, the sliding scrape of wood on concrete ratcheting up through the soles of his feet. Tipping. Teetering. Panic flaring as his world angles out of control. Falling, unable to stop the motion. A ripping crash as his world explodes.

Agony. Knifing through the center of him. Jagged lightening shredding his vision from behind closed eyes. Blackness beginning to crush him.

Shallow panting breaths, now, not by choice. Hard to breathe. Sounds from outside beginning to fade under the pounding of his own heartbeat. Shouts ringing out nearby, loud enough to be heard over the pounding pain.

"C'mon, guys. We're outta here." A loud whistle, shrieking through the building, sounding faint in his ears. Footsteps retreating into the distance, leaving silence behind.

Trembling fatigue rolling over him in a gray wave. Fighting the darkness that is trying to swallow him and losing to the encroaching blackness


	3. Chapter 3

Special Agent David Bass growled in frustration as he snapped the cell phone shut. Turning, he started back into building he had left a few minutes ago in order to take the phone call. He stopped short as two men stepped out of the warehouse in front of him.

The growing light of dawn cast angled shadows in the shattered doorway as they drew close. The taller of the two spoke quietly, his voice apologetic, "There's nobody in there, Bass." He shook his head in defeat.

Bass' shoulders dropped. "Damn." He stared blindly forward. "That was Stevens on the phone. This is the only place that looks as if they might have been here." He glanced again at the shattered door. "You think…a B & E?"

The shorter man shook his head, quickly killing the faintly hopeful thought. "No, we found these…" He held his hand out.

The first light of the day touched the offering as Bass reached out to take it. Sighing, Bass stared down at the rags, dirty, stained and sodden with the brown-red of drying blood.

"There's more blood inside…" His companion's voice was both angry and sympathetic. "If it _was_ him, they've got him."

Both men moved around him to their waiting vehicle. As he passed by, the shorter agent reached up to clap a sympathetic hand on David's shoulder. "Sorry, man."

Fists clenched around the soggy handful of cloth, Bass stared blankly at the darkened interior of the warehouse. Sighing with defeat, he turned to follow his companions. "Damn."

* * *

Forcing eyes to open to darkness yet again. Feeling sticky wetness, head, stomach. Pain. Ears picking up the distant crunch of tires on gravel, close by, and then fading away. A low groan resounding in his ears. Freezing warily at the sound until dimly realizing it was his own.

Mustering strength, gathering fuzzy thoughts, attempting to shove pain back and away. Movement, left hand pushing against barrier. Pain. Biting lip to push away the grey darkness. Copper salt metallic tang. Pushing with a slow steady use of strength that wouldn't awaken the demons gnawing at him.

Nothing.

A sigh. Moistness of his breath radiating back at him from the barrier.

Calm, pushing fear aside with a deep breath that grinds like glass. Clearing head, gathering strength, tensing muscles for a focused explosion of movement.

Okay. Now. Muscles screaming with tension, then releasing in a burst. _Thud_.

Nothing. Sinking dismay. Harder….needs to be harder.

_Thud_. A groan sounding loud and labored in his ears. Pulse pounding through him. Pain knifing and twisting through his gut, mingling with a growing dread. Breathing growing ragged

_Thud_. Rising panic.

_Thud, thud, thud_. Hand radiating a new fresh pain, joining the chorus shrieking from the rest of him.

Breath escaping him on a resigned mutter of chagrin, "Awww, hell!"

Rough surface under his cheek as creeping blackness envelops him.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks for the reviews. And the constructive criticism. This is my first attempt at "Bones", so hopefully I won't be too out of character with our beloved crew. _

_I stumbled upon Bones back a few months ago on TNT and...well...watching a__ crash Netflix rental of all the Bones episodes in a 3 month time-span doesn't prepare one for knowing the minutiae as well as I woul__d like. :-)_

_I am re-watching...obsessively, in fact. If my muse decides to grace me with another flashed scene to fill out, my next Bones-fic will hopefully be better._

_Also, sorry if it doesn't seem "Bones"ish yet... I don't normally write in "chapters" and will not normally post until my entire fic is 100% completed and put to rest... I also have never tried "murder/mystery" stuff before...so I am totally out of my element here. :-)_

_That being said...please let me know if I screw anything up too horribly, please?_

* * *

"Mornin', Dr. B!" The cheery call was punctuated by the electronic bleep and chirp of Hodgins passing his security card through the card-reader at the bottom of the steps. Angela, following behind him, smiled as she slipped onto the platform before the device could re-engage.

The twin sounds managed to pierce Dr. Temperance Brennan's cocoon of contemplation and she raised her eyes from the report in front of her to peer questioningly at the two people climbing the steps to the platform. Her gaze remained distracted as she managed to register their presence while her mind continued to process the words she had been reading before the interruption.

Blue eyes twinkling with affable good humor and his lips quirked in a jovial smile, Jack Hodgins reached the top of the flight of stairs. He stepped to the side to let Angela pass him as he paused to take a deep swig from the oversized coffee cup that he clutched each morning like a lifeline.

Angela shot him an amused smile as he heaved a satisfied sigh, and then turned her attention to her best friend who was still peering at them from behind the dark brown bangs that had escaped her habitual ponytail. Angie chuckled as she took in what she called the "Brennan-deer-in-the-headlights" stare, recognizing her friend's distraction.

She turned and shared a conspiratorial smile with Jack, both of them expecting Hodgins' greeting to go entirely unanswered while Doctor Temperance Brennan launched into an interrupted train-of-thought dialogue concerning whatever it was that had already claimed her attention this early in the morning. Two sets of eyes widened and two jaws dropped slightly as Brennan returned the greeting.

"Good morning, Jack." Both Hodgins and Angela turned and watched as Brennan straightened from where she had been leaning against the exam table. Her blue eyes traveled from Hodgins' slightly stunned face, typically, not noticing his surprise at her response, to Angela's rapidly widening smile. "Good morning, Angela."

"Wow!" Angela grinned mischievously at Hodgins as they drew closer to Brennan. "So, when did you start channeling Booth, Bren?"

For once, Brennan understood the reference and she smiled in reflection. Her head tilted a bit proudly as she faced her friend. "Booth has told me in the past that I should start a conversation, especially in the mornings, with a familiar and more personal greeting…"

Angela's chuckle joined with Jack's as she moved around the table to wrap a companionable arm around her friend's shoulder and give it a squeeze. Brennan's voice had trailed off on an upward, questioning lilt, and Angie was quick to reassure her, "He's right, sweetie, and you did great!"

"You find my attempt amusing…" Brennan cast a jaundiced eye at Angela's smiling face. Her own expression held a glint of self-deprecating humor. She knew she was awkward at the '_people stuff_' that her partner dealt so easily with.

"You've got to admit, Doctor B," Jack moved to lean against the table, setting his cup down next to the folder Brennan had been perusing. "It's not…"

Before Jack could say something too profoundly stupid, Angela interrupted him, "Not _amusing_, Bren." She denied with another reassuring squeeze, "Endearing." She punctuated her comment by blithely stealing Hodgins' coffee.

"Hey!" Her action drew the expected objection before Hodgins predictably stuck his size nine shoes deeply into his own mouth anyway, "So…speaking of Booth…"

"Which we _weren't_…" Angie shot a narrowed glare Jack's way, willing him to shut up.

"Have you heard…" Jack's voice faltered slightly as he caught Angie's eyes. "From…um…him…uh…" His words trailed off into a stifled cough as he averted his gaze. "Yet?" he finished lamely as the security device bleeped yet again behind him.

"Hi, everyone…" Wendell trotted up the stairs behind Jack as Hodgins stammered out the last few words, "Have we heard from whom?"

He glanced between Brennan, Angie, and Hodgins swiftly, flashing them all a quick, friendly smile. "Booth?" He guessed at the subject of the conversation with an innocence born of having been out of the lab for the past four weeks. "Do we have a case?" His smile turned eager.

"No. Mr. Bray," Brennan's smile had disappeared swiftly, to be replaced by her best coolly unemotional and professional mask. She started busily gathering the paperwork from the table in front of her. "There is…" she hesitated slightly as, in glancing up, she caught sight of the commiserating look Angela was focusing on her.

"No case." Her professional demeanor slipped and her voice dropped with a note that might have been defeat. She blinked once, and then turned her gaze back to the folders in her hands.

Swiftly, she shook off the brief, unwanted melancholy. "I _am_, however," Brennan's voice turned cool and professional as she glance back up, her blue eyes touching both Hodgins and Wendell, "Expecting a delivery today. It should have been here on Friday, but it was delayed for some reason." Irritation flickered briefly in her expression. "When it gets here, please let me know."

Bewilderment showed on Wendell's face as he glanced from Jack, who was doing everything he could besides crawl under the examination table to avoid Angela's murderous stare, to his teacher's deliberate avoidance of everyone's gaze. Behind them, the bleep of the security system and the brisk clip of footsteps coming up the stairs heralded Cam's appearance.

"Uh, sure, Dr. B." Jack shot Wendell a glower for the use of his own personal nickname for Dr. Brennan.

"Morning, everyone." Cam stepped into the little group, eyeing them with smiling curiosity.

Having gathered her reading material, Brennan turned to Cam with a determined lift of her chin. "I am expecting the delivery of the two sets of mummified remains today. When they arrive, I will need Dr. Hodgins and Mr. Bray to help me examine them."

"Uh," Cam glanced around the group, picking up on the tension, but she recovered quickly. "Sure, no problem."

Brennan nodded brusquely and started to move away towards her office.

Behind her, she could hear Angela's muttered, "Way to go, Jack." The unmistakable sound of a swatting hand hitting the back of Jack's cranial structure emphasized the reprimand.

She moved at a steady clip away from them, deliberately trying to tune out the words she couldn't miss.

"I'm sorry, Ange, I didn't think…" Hodgins' voice was filled with regret.

Wendell's voice was hesitant and befuddled. "What's going on?"

"Alright, we've got work to do, people." Cam's voice held a note of understanding underneath the professional exterior. "We can't…"

Brennan let her office door cut off the rest of the words. For a long moment, she stood with her back to the door, her thoughts whirling. Then, with a sigh, she moved across the office and dropped into the chair behind her desk.

Away from the prying eyes, she let her shoulders relax and, for a moment, a perturbed frown drew her lips downwards. She dropped her hand into her lab coat pocket, feeling the cool case of her phone under her fingertips. Pulling it out, she hesitated, and then flipped it open to scan the screen.

Her lips formed a frustrated grimace as it remained stubbornly blank and she snapped the phone shut with an huff of annoyance that was directed at herself for looking at it yet again, and at the person who was, all unknowing, aggravating her.


	5. Chapter 5

Breath-strangling darkness. Raging thirst. Bewildered, bleary dimness surrounding him as faint light seeped through the narrow cracks in front of him.

Loud noise strafing through the pain. Crashes, curses, the growl of a loud motor.

Sounds from outside _here_. Where was _here_? Wait…flash of anger, of caution. Listen first.

Safe. Sigh of relief. Head whirling. Gut rolling.

Pounding. In his head. In his ears. In front of him, fist on wood. Nobody hears.

Mouth glued shut. Throat dry. Dry. Sand dry.

Motor coming closer. Closer. Creating shattered pain in the skull. A harsh croak. Not loud enough. Try again.

Rocking jolt sending jagged glass shards of pain and stealing breath. Teeth gritting. Open mouth to curse. Another jolt and a falling crash.

Lightening flash of agony. Salty metallic pain flooding mouth. Gagging.

Darkness.

* * *

Cam waited until Brennan disappeared into her office, and then turned to the small group of people surrounding her. An eyebrow quirked as she matter-of-factly stated, "So…still no word from Booth."

"No…" Angie sighed ruefully.

Jack cocked his head and pinned Cam with a pointed stare. "Don'tcha think that's a little…odd?"

"Not really…" Cam shook her head in firm dismissal, refusing to give the man a chance to work up to one of his well-loved conspiracy theories. When Jack's stare morphed into a droll look of inquiry, she rethought the situation. "Well… maybe just a _little_," she admitted reluctantly.

Wendell glanced from one person to another quizzically, "Wait a minute…what's going on?" His eyes rested on Cam as he frowned.

"Booth got reassigned." Jack grinned, he just loved being able to drop verbal grenades, especially when they were guaranteed to create high-quality shock value.

"What!?" Wendell's eyes darted from Jack to Angela to Cam, consternation and disbelief on his face.

"Temporarily", Angie interjected, shooting the Jeffersonian's unrepentant bug'n'slime guy a reprimanding glower. With a blithe blue twinkle, he pointedly ignored her.

Cam spoke up, trying to keep the conversation within the bounds of professionalism. "Yes…_temporarily_," she stressed the word. She smiled reassuringly at the intern. "The field office in New York was shorthanded, so Booth got loaned out." She lifted her shoulder in a nonchalant shrug born of personal experience. "No big deal. It happens."

"Oh." Wendell sighed in momentary relief before he noted the still worried expressions on Angela and Hodgins' face. "_So_…what am I missing here?" he asked in bewilderment, knowing there was more to the story.

"_So_…" Angela was the first to try to explain, "He hasn't called at all..."

Jack wasn't far behind her, "Or emailed…"

Angela nodded her confirmation of Jack's interruption and continued without pause. "_Anyone_," she stressed the word, "In over three weeks…"

"So…" Wendell frowned for a moment, and then shook his head, "What's the big deal about…"

"_Anyone_…" Angela emphasized the word with a little more force as she caught his eye and tipped her head meaningfully in the direction that Brennan had disappeared.

Cam sighed, giving up on keeping the conversation contained as Wendell's eyes widened in sudden understanding, "Oh…"

"Yeah." Angela sighed, set Hodgins' coffee cup down on the table as she turned to follow Brennan to her office.


	6. Chapter 6

Shivering. Why so cold? A twisting gut pain. Different from the old familiar one. Slow rolling motion.

Swallowing hard against rising bile. Zinging, searing lightning flashes of pain in hands, feet. Muscles giving a convulsive jerk. Another. Shuddering. Ragged breaths loud in the confining darkness.

Dry mouth. Dry throat. In the desert again? No. Not there. Please. Panic. Not again. Hard roughness against his forehead, his hand. No, not sand. Pushing against the not-sand.

Tired. So damned tired. Knees sagging. The unyielding not-sand forcing him upright. Push harder against it. Need to get _out_. Both hands pressing now. An inferno flaring to life in his arm. An involuntary yowl of pain.

Light fading.

* * *

Frowning, Temperance studied the closed cell phone with the same intensity that she normally directed to a disembodied skull, her focus so complete that she failed to hear the door to her office quietly '_snick'_ open.

"Hey…"

Brennan's gaze lifted to the not-unexpected sight of Angela leaning against the doorframe, her eyes sympathetic as she watched her friend struggle with her feelings.

"He'll call, Bren," Angie spoke the soft reassurance as she moved closer to Brennan's desk. Brennan watched her closely, her eyes unconsciously pleading for her best friend to come up with a reason to exonerate her partner's unaccustomed silence. "He's probably just…" Angela hesitated and then sighed, knowing that she didn't have an answer.

"It is illogical for me to feel…"

"Disappointed?" The wry question was probing.

"No," Despite her swift denial Brennan's eyes flashed a quick and heartfelt confirmation of the feeling.

Instead, she picked another emotion that she felt comfortable enough to let show. "_Concerned_…" She stressed the word. "Yes," She nodded, trying to convince both Angela and herself, "Concerned…that he hasn't contacted…us…"

"I'm _sure_ he's just been busy." Angie sighed, not sure at all but unwilling to let her friend down. She tucked her hands into her lab coat and waited for a moment as Brennan mused silently, recognizing her need to gather her thoughts before speaking.

"Ange, you know I'm not good at…" Brennan gestured helplessly, trying to express her lack of ability to read people. "Am I overreacting?" Her blue eyes suddenly pinned Angela in place, the direct stare questioning.

Angela opened her mouth to respond, but Brennan continued speaking, rattling out her thoughts, "I _know_ that Booth habitually calls on a daily basis…just to irritate and annoy me. That is…if, of course, he's not calling about a case, but, do you think there is a probability that there may be something…" Brennan hesitated, her brows coming together in a frown directed at her own inability to decipher the situation. "Wrong?"

Angela smiled inwardly, knowing that Brennan was probably the only person in the lab to not realize that most of Booth's calls to "irritate and annoy" one Dr. Temperance Brennan were a really just a pathetic attempt to cover up the fact that the man could rarely make it through the day without hearing his partner's voice.

"Oh, honey, I doubt it. I'm sure the FBI'd let us know if anything had happened…" Angela tried to allay her friend's fears for her partner's safety, only to find herself pleasantly surprised by the realization that Brennan was troubled for an entirely different reason.

Brennan raised doubtful eyes to meet hers, bit her lip, and then blurted out a confession. "We argued…" She lifted a shoulder in a self-conscious shrug as she continued, "Before he left."

The expression she wore clearly told Angie that Brennan thought this admission would be at least mildly shocking.

"_Really_?" Angela drawled, not trying to hide her wry amusement. "You and Booth? _Argued_?"

"Yes." Brennan's frown grew perplexed, having expected more of a reaction from her friend. Belatedly, she caught the sarcasm and wrinkled her nose at her friend in admonishment even as a wry grin pulled at her own lips.

Angie chuckled, glad to have successfully teased her friend, and then returned to the conversation at hand, asking thoughtfully, "And you think _that_ could be why he hasn't called?"

"Well, yes actually. Even though it makes _no_ sense…" She trailed off briefly before continuing with a resigned shrug, "But sometimes Booth doesn't." She looked up into Angie's quizzical face, patiently expecting a response.

The silence lingered as Angela waited for her to continue. Finally, when nothing more was forthcoming, Angie was forced to ask in befuddlement, "Booth doesn't…what?"

Brennan frowned at Angie's uncharacteristic inability to follow the conversation. "Make sense," she clarified, unrepentantly maligning her absent partner.

"Oh!" Angela stifled a chuckle at the thought of what Booth's response to that nugget of information would be. Gathering her thoughts, she asked curiously, "So…what'd you argue about?"

"He…was being _unreasonable_…about having me…" Brennan paused for a moment as she thought of the disagreement, replaying Booth's words in her mind.

Angela took advantage of her slight hesitation, filling the moment with a little bit of maligning of her own. "Oh…now _that_ sounds like Booth alright…" She nodded her frustration at the crazy dance the FBI agent kept doing around her best friend.

Brennan frowned back at her, knowing she had missed something, but sure that the smirk on her friend's face was directed at her missing partner. "Um…well…that's a bit unfair, Ange…he's not unreasonable _all_ of the time…"

She missed the wide grin and the exasperated eye roll Angela gave at how quickly she had jumped to her partner's defense. "In fact, he is _surprisingly_ reasonable most of the time…except of course…" Brennan frowned darkly at the memory of their last day working together. "When he's not."

"Ok." Angela sighed, knowing she needed to pull her friend back on track. "Focus sweetie, and tell me _exactly_ what the argument was about?"

"Oh. Well," Brennan shrugged, re-gathered her thoughts, and began explaining. "Cullen told Booth and me that he wanted me to do field work with Agent Burns while Booth was on this assignment and…

Angela's eyes narrowed in pleased suspicion as she interrupted, "And that's when Booth got unreasonable?"

"Well…" Once again distracted from her thoughts, Brennan blinked and then nodded at her friend, "Yes..." She opened her mouth to continue her narrative, but Angela interrupted her again.

"Yes!" With a little bounce and a pumped fist, Angie gloated, "Finally!"

Brennan eyed her antics warily, "Finally?" Her voice was quizzical.

Angie grinned broadly at her friend. "This is great!"

Brennan's wary stare turned into an expression that was at once mistrustful and increasingly puzzled, "Great?"

"Yeah…" Angie smile turned conspiratorial and hopeful as she beamed down at her friend, "Oh, honey, Booth got jealous and so he's been giving you the silent treatment."

Angela paused, her joy at the fact that Booth was finally exposing his emotions warring with her annoyance at how he was treating her friend because of it. Finally, after mentally promising to kick his cute FBI rear for his typically male response the next time she saw him, she grinned, "It's about time!"

Bemused by Angela's increasingly confusing statements, Brennan shifted in her chair and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Ange…Why on earth would Booth be jealous?"

Angie cocked her head at her oblivious friend and raised her own brows as she intoned meaningfully. "You…and Agent Burns. You know…" Angie leered at her, "_Working_ together…" Her voice trailed off suggestively and she did a little '_bump'n'grind_' motion with her hips in case Brennan was actually clueless enough to have trouble picking up her meaning.

"Why would it conceivably matter to Booth if I was assigned to be a consultant to Agent Burns for a few weeks?" Brennan was honestly befuddled, and Angela's face fell as she stared in disbelief as her friend.

"Ange, you're making no sense whatsoever." Brennan continued, frustration and distress mingling in her voice as she revealed, "Booth got angry at _me_…he told me I was being…" Her forehead crinkled as she made an effort to remember his exact phrasing, "Mule-stubborn and pig-headed." She repeated his words with care, worried that Angela would again jump to a wrong conclusion.

"Huh?" Now it was Angela's turn to be clueless and she sagged, defeated.

"When I told Cullen that my working with Agent Burns was out of the question," Brennan gestured with her hands as if proffering up two solid sets of facts. "Booth said I was being pig-headed."

"Oh." Angela eyed her friend with a jaundiced stare, not entirely sure at this moment whether she would find it hard to disagree with Booth, though not for Brennan's lack of enthusiasm to acquiesce to Cullen's request.

"I actually thought I was being _quite_ reasonable," Brennan frowned in remembered affront, "After all, I told Cullen that I would be available for consultation but that I did not plan to be working in the field at all during Booth's absence. I explained that I had some very important projects that I have been unable to give my full attention and that the time would be a perfect opportunity for me to complete them."

"Cullen was quite…_insistent_." Brennan's mouth turned down in another frown and her nose wrinkled in distaste. "And _Booth_ was worse. He spent all day trying to get me to change my mind…and he was being redundantly annoying about it." Her tone was aggrieved at the memory of her partner's irritating behavior that day. "I had to repeat myself numerous times before he gave up." She sighed.

"Then, just before he dropped me off at my place, he pursued the subject yet again and I finally told him that even though _he_ obviously didn't mind being loaned out to another office like a discounted prostitute, _I _had better things to do than to be forced to work with an obviously inferior partner while he was in New York."

Angie's jaw dropped in disbelief and she sank into the chair across from Brennan. Imaging the reaction Brennan's words had probably provoked, she stared blankly into Brennan's wide blue eyes for a long moment before she broke.

She propped her elbows on Brennan's desk and dropped her face into her hands. Her voice was choked and muffled when she spoke again. "Cheap whore…"

"What?" Brennan watched her friend with increasing worry, sure she was missing some subtle nicety of personal interactions that would explain her partner's three week silence and wondering why Angie was obviously laughing at her and trying to hide it.

Hearing the concern in Brennan's voice, Angela raised twinkling eyes to reassure her with a wide smile. "Sweetie, the phrase is '_loaned out like cheap whore_'."

Brennan blinked at her owlishly. "Oh. Well…yes." She shrugged dismissively. Booth corrected me on that as well. He appeared to be _quite_ agitated…"

"Oh, gee, I wonder why…"

The mild sarcasm was laced with laughter and was totally opaque to her friend who answered with unrepentant literalness, "I would have to presume it was because he thought I was being unreasonable about his and Cullen's request."

Angie smiled tightly, trying not to laugh aloud, and nodded. "So…then what'd he say…do?"

"He dropped me off at my apartment. He said goodnight. He left for New York the next morning and..." Brennan shrugged. Her eyes met Angela's, and Angela had to sigh at the hurt in her expression that was not quite masked as she looked to her more intuitive friend for an explanation.

"And he hasn't called since…" Angie sighed thoughtfully, bringing a worried frown to Brennan's face, her blue eyes piercing as she waited expectantly.

"Okay, first…" Angela gave Brennan a firm stare as she stated unequivocally, "He's _not_ mad at you, Bren."

"But perhaps I _was_ being a bit unreasonable…" Brennan argued earnestly, willing to give her partner the benefit of the doubt.

Angie smiled affectionately at her. "Bren, honey, I'm sure, to Booth, you seem unreasonable quite often…" She ignored the slight pout that crossed her friend's face. "But has he ever cut you off because of it?"

"Well…"

"No." Angie interrupted her firmly. "Next, even though you basically called him a whore…" She grinned again at the thought, wishing once again to have been present to see Booth's reaction to that typical Brennan one-shot.

Her friend scowled repressively and objected, "I did _not_!"

"Oh, yes you did…" Angie nodded firmly and grinned broadly. "And a cheap one at that..." She sniggered. "But, you ended up stroking his ego big time not a split second later…and followed _that_ up with putting the green-eyed monster to rest before it could even show its face…"

Mouth open in bewildered confusion, Brennan shook her head before frowning at her friend, "Ange…you aren't making much sense…"

"Oh, yes, I am, sweetie. Believe me; I'm making a lot of sense." Angie met Brennan's eyes with a reassuring grin and a direct stare. "I can _definitely_ say that Booth is _not_ mad at you and _whatever_ reason he has for not calling has _nothing_ to do with the little 'argument' you guys had."

A sigh of defeat escaped Brennan, "I don't understand." She frowned across at Angie as the other woman rose to her feet and came around the desk. "How can you come to those conclusions using green-eyed…egos…"

Grinning, Angie leaned down to give Brennan a reassuring hug from behind. She wrinkled her nose playfully at her friend, "Just trust me on this one…"

She strolled out of Brennan's office, feeling the gimlet blue stare that was following her progress and knowing that Booth's Bones would sit and stew over their conversation, trying to find the logic in it. Unseen, her smile faded into renewed worry and she sighed, almost disappointed that an argument between the two partners actually hadn't been the explanation for Booth's silence.


	7. Chapter 7

More motion.

Head swimming. Sounds of a vehicle, rumbling all around him. Bumping and swaying. The strident 'honk' of a nearby horn. Nausea rising as the smells of gas, exhaust, and tar hit him.

Jolting stop, lack of motion now. Rolling, ratcheting explosion of noise all around him. Light, promising a bright day, creeping into the cracks in front of him.

Shoving, pushing again against the barrier. A dry croak from parched mouth. Not loud enough to carry. Rattling crash and the light goes away again.

Hot now. Thirsty. Sagging against rough boards.

Jolting motion, surging forward. Whining cry of transmission, brakes squealing with a rocking jolt.

Tired. Hot. Push again against the barrier. Hand shaking, tremors crashing through him, causing pain. Leaning forehead against barrier.

Giving in to the darkness.

* * *

"_You have no new messages_." The dispassionate voice was tinny as it came out of the tiny speaker on Brennan's desk. Brennan glowered repressively at the telephone and reached out to stab the disconnect button with more force than necessary.

From her spot in the office doorway, Angie watched with compassion and commiseration as Brennan's shoulders slumped. She bit her lip and then pasted a bright smile that she wasn't quite feeling on her face and stepped forward into the lion's den.

"Hey!" Angela's voice was a bit louder than she wanted it to be as she stormed into her friend's office. "You wanna catch lunch?"

"I…" Brennan jumped, startled. She turned to meet Angela's determinedly jovial smile, realizing that her friend had been in the office doorway long enough to have caught her checking her voice mail yet again.

She sighed, hesitated, and then revised her first instinctive answer, "Yes." Then, she hid a smile and qualified, "If by '_catch_' you mean…" Brennan was all innocent inquiry.

"I mean go to the _diner_, sweetie," Angela tipped her head in mild exasperation, falling for Brennan's unexpected humor. "And grab something to eat…" She broke off and then grinned as Brennan smirked at her triumphantly, "Bren! You made a joke…"

"I'm sure it was entirely unintentional…" Brennan deadpanned.

Angela snorted a laugh, liking what she was hearing, "_Bull_…"

Brennan glanced at the clock and frowned even though she was already standing and reaching for her purse. "It's a bit early for lunch…" She moved from behind the desk as Angie pulled off her lab coat.

"Yeah, well, I drew the short straw…" Angela informed her matter-of-factly as she tossed the coat towards Brennan's couch.

"The short…" Brennan paused, honestly confused this time. "I don't know what that means…"

"It means, Bren," Angie grabbed her friend's arm and started pulling. "That you have been driving everyone crazy today checking on whether or not your precious pair of mummies have arrived yet…and you know a watched pot never boils…so I got volunteered to put everyone else out of _your_ misery…"

"I…"

"I know. You don't know what that means. Don't worry. The rest of us most definitely do. C'mon, don't argue…let's go…" Angela gave her friend's arm a tug.

"Ok." Brennan let Angie drag her out of the office. "But, could we go someplace…" She hesitated, drawing Angela's gaze, "_Other_ than the diner?" She forced herself to meet her friend's knowing and sympathetic look.

"Sure, sweetie, no problem." Angie smiled with understanding, and then started out again, no longer having to pull her friend along.

"Ange…" As they headed out across the platform, Wendell and Jack paused in their work to watch them. Both men smiled in relief and exchanged heartfelt sighs as they watched their boss being unrepentantly hijacked.

"Yeah, Bren?" The words drifted back to them as Angela and Brennen started down the stairs.

"Water boils at 100 Celsius…whether or not someone is watching the pot or not." Temperance's voice was too calm, too controlled, and just a shade too informational.

"Temperance Brennan, did you just make another joke…?"

"I … don't think so…" Laughter belied the words.

"C'mon…" Angie's growl of pretended annoyance was ruined by a faint giggle.

Jack and Wendell exchanged bemused smirks behind the women's backs as Angela and Brennan disappeared around the corner.


	8. Chapter 8

Darkness and pain.

His entire world had narrowed to the sharp confines of those two constants. Even thirst had deserted him. For a while, nausea had been a companion. Light-headedness. The torturous spasms of muscles. Now just a dizzying numbness.

Felt movement, movement not of his own volition, movement outside of himself. He heard a low moan come from somewhere nearby. Realized with a sudden sinking shame that it had come from his own throat.

A sudden jolt. A whimper came from wherever the earlier moan had come from. Oh. Wait. That was his too. Clenched his fist against the humiliation and felt daggers of pain spring to life. Better, something to focus on.

Light. A small amount seeping through small cracks, but enough to wake the head pain again. Parched tongue licking desert cracked lips. The desert? No. That was back _there_…in the Gulf. Not here. Here was…_where_?

Noise. Light and noise and stabbing pain in his head. A shrill sound. Whistling. Echoing like the sudden crash and rumble nearby. Motion. A turning, swirling, dizzying wrench. His friend nausea returned.

"Hey…" Not loud enough. Parched tongue glued to dry mouth. No air. Dizzy. Sick.

Falling again. A gasp. A sudden crashing pain. Agony spearing though him, around him, becoming him.

Dark again.

* * *

A jaunty whistling preceded a shouted question that echoed through the lab, "Hey, where do you want this?" Two young men stared with up at the group of people on the platform above them with bored impatience.

The words brought them the distracted attention of three people who turned to stare down at them. Taking in the gaudy purple and yellow uniform shirts with the AFS logo emblazoned on the lapels, Hodgins exchanged a glance with Wendell and heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief at the sight of the oversized crate that rested on the wheeled cart between the deliverymen. "Finally!"

They turned back to the impatiently waiting duo and Hodgins gestured expansively around to the back side of the platform, blithely ignoring the malodorous slime that dripped from his latex-gloved hands. "Dude, there's a freight elevator around that way…bring it on up here."

He and Wendell ignored the deliverymen's put-upon sigh as they both turned to Cam. Jack was the first to speak, "Well? Do we call her?"

Cam pursed her lips as she thought about it, then she shook her head. "No. Let her and Angie finish lunch."

Jack raised an eyebrow and Cam shrugged defensively, "Hey, she needs to eat." She smiled, "And, it's not like those mummies are going anywhere in the next hour or so."

The two young men came around the corner behind the trio, one pulling and one pushing the crate. "It's your call, boss." Jack grinned at her and Wendell shrugged as the deliverymen maneuvered the cart over to a clear spot near the railing. "C'mon," Jack gestured to Wendell, "Better let Cam sign for 'em." He shot Cam a needling smirk. "Brennan can only yell at _her_…she can get _us_ fired…"

Cam sighed and shot a quelling glance at Hodgins that was promptly ignored as both he and Wendell went back to their interrupted tasks. She turned to watch as one of the young men let the cart holding the crate roll to a stop. His companion snagged an electronic clipboard from its resting place on top of the crate and approached her.

"Ma'am? I need someone to sign for this."

"Sure." Cam reached out to accept the forms. She scanned them quickly, noting the return address, the delivery address, and the listing of the contents. With a sigh, she scribbled her name across the bottom of the pad, noting with some disgust that the pad turned her signature into garbled hash.

"Where do you want it?" The other young man spoke up.

Cam gave the pad back and eyed the area on the platform thoughtfully. She shrugged, "Right there is fine. Dr. Brennan will want to get to it as soon as possible." She drew in a deep breath and turned away, hoping that the arrival of the package would help Brennan deal with the stress that was driving both her and her team crazy.

She heard the loud '_clunks_' of the cart's wheels being locked in place behind her as she called out over her shoulder, "Hodgins, you and Wendell go ahead and take lunch now too. Dr. Brennan will probably want to start on that as soon as she gets back in."

"Don't you know it!" Jack's grin was in his voice as he stripped off his gloves. His tone changed, losing its humor as he sighed, "At least it'll take Dr. B's mind off of you-know-who for a while."

Wendell glanced at Cam's departing form and gave a more acceptable response, "Sure, Cam."

As she descended the stairs, Cam flinched at the sound of a resounding crash and what sounded like a pained moan from the deliverymen behind her as the crate was unceremoniously rolled off the cart onto the lab floor. She shot an annoyed glare up at them both, mentally making a note to complain to the shipping company as she continued out of the area, "Please, be careful! A lot of our deliveries are delicate."

"Sorry." She vaguely registered the grunted apology, her mind already divided between the project Wendell and Hodgins were currently working on and her own personal worry, renewed by Hodgins' irreverent comment, about the squint squad's favorite FBI agent.

* * *

Familiar sounds. A leaping hope.

An attempt to moisten dry lips enough to shout. Motion again, a spin and whirl. Another shattering crash causing crushing, gut wrenching agony.

A faint cry torn from sand-parched throat. Hand groping blindly, pressing the almost forgotten handful of rags against the pain, renewed wet stickiness.

Pressing harder. Flaring pain.

Wave of black crashing down on him again.


	9. Chapter 9

Hodgins glanced at his watch and stood, stretching. He eyed Wendell's remaining lunch with an eye to snagging the younger man's unopened pudding cup, but decided against the theft when a glower and a growled threat worthy of Seeley Booth promised bodily harm.

"Don't. Even. Try."

Jack stared at the intern in consternation. "You have _got_ to quit hanging around Booth, kid," he muttered defensively as he took a step away.

Wendell grinned triumphantly and pocketing his pudding as he stood to join Jack as they left Hodgins office and headed back to the platform. As Jack topped the stairs, his eyes landed on the large crate that had been delivered.

"Mummies." He grinned, shooting Wendell a conspiratorial glance. "Dr. B'll be back soon, ya think we should go ahead and get started on these guys."

"I don't think so." Wendell gave Jack's enthusiastic grin a wary shake of his head. "Dr. Brennan was very interested in these. I don't think we should mess with them until she give us the go-ahead."

"Awww," Hodgins groused, "C'mon, kid…live a little."

"Is that my delivery!?"

Hodgins cringed, groaned and turned. The sight of Angela and Brennan starting up the stairs made him smile. "Uh… Yeah, Dr. B." He gestured expansively, "There it is."

Brennan set her purse down next to one of the computers, her focus completely on the large crate and its contents. Behind her, Angela rolled her eyes and shared a smile with the two men.

"Ok, "Brennan's voice was brusque but her eyes shone with a sparkle of challenge and interest. "Let's get this crate open and get a preliminary workup done on these two."

"Sure thing, Dr. B." Having already anticipated his long time boss's request, Hodgins was already in route.

"Geez…" he exclaimed in disgust as he passed the large crate and took a quick look down at it on his way to a nearby cabinet. He glanced over his shoulder and griped, "Just what part of '_this end up_' do these delivery people_ not_ understand."

Behind him, Wendell eyed the placement of the crate where it rested too close to the railing to easily maneuver. Thoughtfully, he mused, "We're gonna hafta lift it up longwise before we can swing it 'round to get to the front, Hodgins

"We? What _we_?" Mock disdain laced Hodgins' voice as he opened the cabinet and reached for the crowbar that had been handily stashed there the last time they had had a large delivery. He turned to see Wendell gazing at him with wry amusement.

"By that you mean _you_, of course…" Hodgins grinned, gesturing broadly in invitation for Wendell to get to it. "It's all yours, muscles," Jack instructed unnecessarily as the younger man crouched next to the box that looked like a double-decker coffin.

"Wimp…" Wendell accused with a smile

"_Hey_," Hodgins objected indignantly before breaking off and watching in amusement as Wendell strained mightily, fingers under the top edge of the crate that was lying on its side.

"Dude," he chortled as the intern struggled, "You seriously need to start working out more…" Wendell shot him a filthy glare as he managed to get the box about four inches off of the floor.

"Funny…" he grunted, "Jack."

Hodgins chuckled as he set the crowbar aside and crouched to help. "C'mon, kid, let's get this thing right side up and open…" Wendell shifted to his left to make room for Hodgins' wiry frame, sliding his grip along the edge of the crate.

"Owww!" Wendell suddenly yowled and jerked his hands from under the crate, which unceremoniously crashed back down. Next to him, Hodgins yanked his own hands back with a startled yelp, barely missing losing his fingers under the wooden edge.

"Hey!" Jack stared at Wendell in shock, "What's the matter?"

"Damn… I cut myself…" He frowned and proffered his left hand as proof, which was bleeding from a small gash at the base of his thumb. "Sorry, Jack, there's something sharp under there."

"What's going on?" The crash and the yelps had drawn Cam swiftly out to the platform and Brennan and Angela also looked up at the sounds. Brow furrowed in consternation, Brennan moved nearer while Angie followed closely behind her, worry in her eyes.

"How bad?" Cam came up the stairs in a rush, worried, having heard Wendell's words.

"It's not bad…" Wendell waved them all off, slightly embarrassed now. "Really. It just startled me…." He dropped back to a crouch, his eyes examining the crate to find the source of his pain.

Cam, Brennan and Angie stopped their forward movement as Jack and Wendell knelt next to the crate. The young man pointed at a nail near the edge of the crate, its pointed end jabbing outward. "See…" He flashed a shrug and a lopsided smile at Hodgins, "That's what got me." He shifted, ready to make another attempt to lift the crate.

Next to him, Jack hesitated, his attention caught as he scanned the edge of the crate nearest him. Noting two spots where the sharp ends of two more nails were peeking out, he mused, "Oh, hey, now _that's_ weird…" He raised an eyebrow and then pointed out another nail. "And there's another one."

Wendell glanced over and his lips twisted in a wry grin. "It looks like it's been nailed shut from the inside…"

"Oh, _yeah_…" Hodgins' blue eyes twinkled irrepressively. "Maybe our mummies decided to go out for a stroll and then…" His smile widened into a devilish grin, "Had to nail themselves back in their coffin for shipping…"

Angela rolled her eyes at his antics and shook her head, turning her gaze to meet Brennan's. She found her friend's lips curved in a slight smile despite the quizzically raised brow. Cam heaved a long-suffering sigh, "You're a _funny_ man, Jack…" Her tone intimated the opposite.

Jack beamed back at her proudly. "Yeah, I know…sometimes I just crack myself up." He ignored Wendell's derisive snort next to him.

Cam made shooing motions at them with her hands, not quite able to totally suppress the upward tilt of her mouth as she sternly ordered, "Just get the crate open, you two…"

"Okay…okay…" Sharing a grin, Wendell and Hodgins knelt in unison, digging fingers under the edge of the box with more care than before.

"One…Two…Three…" With twin grunts, Hodgins and Wendell lifted. Muscles quivering with the strain, the two men boosted the crate until they could get under the raised edge and then they walked forward, tilting it. It teetered on its edge, and then finally overbalanced with a crashing thud.

"Holy!" Hodgins' exclamation mingled with the crash of the crate and a pained moan. The crate rocked back slightly, threatening to topple the other direction, and then came to rest, upright finally, the stenciled address of the Jeffersonian at eye level with Hodgins' wide gaze.

Wendell straightened up, wincing and shaking his arms out, not noticing the puzzled glance that Jack darted from him, to the crate, then to the room surrounding them. "Did you…just…" Jack paused, glancing around at the group of people, his blue eyes questioning, and "Hear something weird?"

"What?" Twisting his neck slightly to ease a strained muscle, Wendell shot back with a groan, "Besides the sound of my back giving out, no. Just how many mummies did she say are supposed to be in there?"

Before either Wendell or Jack could say anything more, Angela, and Brennan converged on them. Brennan was frowning as she eyed them, "Hodgins, please be careful with those, you know they are fragile."

"Sorry, Dr. B," Hodgins shot Brennan a lopsided smile. "I just didn't expect it to be so heavy." He shook his arms and flexed his fingers. Cam raised an eyebrow and glanced from the crate to Hodgins to Wendell and back again.

A frown creased Temperance's brow as she glanced at the crate briefly and then back to meet Hodgins' apologetic gaze. "Heavy?" The frown deepened.

"Yeah," Wendell spoke up with a shrug. "It weighs a ton."

Angela grinned widely and Hodgins rolled his eyes as Wendell's comment elicited the exact response they all expected from their own Doctor Temperance Brennan.

Tipping her head to give her current intern a censorious eye, Brennan lectured quietly. "That is a fallacy, Mr. Bray. " Her piercing blue eyes pinned him in place and he winced as Cam, Angela, and Hodgins snickered around them. "There is no conceivable way that crate and its contents could weigh 907 kilograms."

He squirmed visibly and tried to explain. "Right, Dr. B, I was just…" Wendell's face was a study in chagrin and amused suffrage as Jack shot him an evil grin and left him to his fate, stepping around the corner of the crate to start to give it the turn that would face it to the room at large.

"In fact," Brennan was eyeing the crate herself, rapidly calculating its probable weight, when her diatribe was rudely interrupted.

"Whoa! Dude… Just how badly did you say you cut yourself?" Hodgins' exclamation heralded the appearance of tousled curls and wide blue eyes as he peered back around the corner of the crate.

Glad to be spared Dr. Brennan's lecture, Wendell shrugged and grabbed the lifeline offered. "Not bad, it's just a scratch…why?" He frowned as Jack gestured for him to come around the crate. Jack pointed and, following the motion, Wendell's eyebrows rose towards his hairline while his mouth opened in silent surprise.

Both men stared blankly at the crate, before meeting each others gazes for a long moment of silent wide-eyed conference.

"Uhm…hey, Dr. B." Hodgins' voice was an odd mixture of droll humor and growing wariness. "Just how old are these bodies supposed to _be_ anyways?"

Brennan's tone held a vague, contemplative note as she shrugged, "3000 years, roughly. We won't know for certain until…" Suddenly registering Hodgins' wide-eyed stare, she frowned curiously, "Why do you ask?"

"Well…because," Hodgins drawled as he and Wendell grabbed the crate firmly in preparation. Muscles straining again, the two men shoved the crate around to display the side that had been closest to the platform railing. Hodgins glanced from the front of the crate to the three women staring at him in disbelief. ""It seems your mummies are bleeding…"


	10. Chapter 10

_Ohwow! Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing. I'm tickled to death that this is being taken so well... _

_The constructive comments are great too -- I will probably go back and address the issues after the rest of the story quits pounding the inside of my skull to get out!_

* * *

Five sets of wide eyes converged on the box, verifying Hodgins' words. Angela gasped in surprise and Cam's eyebrows climbed upwards as they stared at a large, ruddy brown discoloration on the slatted wood in front of them.

"That…is not…possible…" Brennan eyed the evidence to the contrary, a frown creasing her brow and puzzlement beginning to creep into her voice.

"Well, Dr. B…." Hodgins, flashed her a cocky smile as he reached towards one of the computer desks. He grabbed a latex glove from a box sitting next to the flat-screen monitor and tipped his head meaningfully at her. "You know how quickly things can get whacko around here…"

Brennan let her eyes turn to him for a brief moment before she went back to studying the crate. "Whacko?"

"Yeah you know…" Hodgins' chipper voice belied the wary caution in his eyes as he approached the crate again and reached out to touch the stain. He continued in the same off-handed vein, "Weird, strange, bizarre…right?" His voice belied the seriousness of his gaze.

"Some of it's fresh," He lapsed suddenly from joking to earnest gravity as he displayed his crimson-stained fingers. A moment of silence fell between the five of them as they eyed the evidence, then Jack's quicksilver sense of humor struck again, "Hey! D'you think there's a body in there? You know…" He shuddered theatrically, "All gooey and icky…?"

His quip earned him a triple shot of repressively censorious glowers from the women and a snort from Wendell. He lifted a shoulder in a shrug and turned to the intern as the younger man reached for the discarded crowbar.

"There's only one way to find out." Wendell's pragmatic statement echoed his movements as he applied the crowbar.

Wedging the flat edge into the crack between the side and the front of the crate, Wendell pried, the muscles in his arms again standing out. The slow steady pressure drew a squeal of protest from the nails holding the face of the crate in place. They gave slightly before their heads stuck, resisting the pull.

Wendell sighed and shoved a little more of the crowbar into the gap he'd created. Setting his feet, he braced himself and gave a sharp shove. The crate jolted sideways slightly and the piercing '_crack_' of splitting wood filled the air as the front of the crate broke away from the left side panel.

"Ohhh, wow… Hodgins mockingly gave a patently faked, nasal moan of awe, pretending to be impressed by the intern's show of strength, "My hero…" Wendell shot him a cocky grin as they both reached out to pull the wooden barrier aside.

* * *

Light chasing the darkness away. Thin lines of light, creeping through the slats. A sharp noise causing pain as his world rocked again.

Then, a familiar, joking voice. A squint voice, simultaneously both welcomed and annoying. A threaten-to-shoot-worthy voice. The thought brought a faint smile.

Home.

And…if _he_ was there, then _she_ would be too.

Fighting exhaustion. Swallowing hard, trying desperately to squeeze a word from a desert-dry throat.

Reaching out, desperate for them to hear him before the blackness closed around him once more.


	11. Chapter 11

Wendell froze as a moan, low and rough, resounded from within the crate. Both he and Hodgins traded glances that were wide with shock. Then, as a faint cough, a rustle of movement, and another groan came from the shipping crate, both men scrambled and leaped backwards away from it.

"What the…"

"Holy!"

The front of the crate moved slightly, as if pushed from within. The entire Jeffersonian team stared in various states of dismay, shock, frozen disbelief, and puzzled inquiry. Wendell instinctively raised the crowbar slightly, ready to use it.

"B-bones?" The raspy whisper emanating from the crate was hoarse, guttural, and almost too low to be heard.

Jack shuddered with an atavistic chill, the sound having brought to mind all the horror movies he'd ever viewed. He shook it off quickly, recognizing the voice even as Dr. Brennan started moving towards the crate.

"Booth?" Brennan's voice was sure, sublimely certain of the identity of the voice, questioning only the _why_ of the situation.

Pushing in front of her, Hodgins grabbed the loosened edge of the crate front and unceremoniously yanked it open with a cracking splinter of more nails tearing through the wood. He heard the gasps from everyone behind him and realized his own mouth was hanging open in shock as he stared at the contents of the crate.

Battered and bloody, Special Agent Seeley Booth slumped inside the crate. His body took up half of the depth of the outer container even with his back pressed hard up against a secondary coffin-shaped box behind him. The breadth of his shoulders almost filled the shipping crate as he leaned heavily against the rough slats that made up its sides.

Dried blood, streaking down the right side of his face from a gash just below his hairline, stained the shoulder of his once-white T-shirt. One muscular arm was pressed tightly across Booth's stomach and, below it, the shirt and pale blue jeans he was wearing were sodden with brown and crimson stains. The arm itself was bloody, marred with cuts and scrapes, the wrist badly swollen and almost black with extensive bruising.

As they watched, one brown eye blinked dazedly in the light of the lab, the other unable to open wider than a mere slit, forced shut by swelling, crusted blood and contusions. With a shaky determination that was painful to watch, Booth straightened and smiled with lips that were dry, cracked and blood-caked, split in two places by the same fists that had closed his eye for him.

* * *

Blindingly bright light. Shiny surfaces all around. Familiar. Welcoming.

Booth met the eyes that were staring at him in shock and tried to straighten from his exhausted slouch. Relief and a certain cocky bravado brought a lopsided smile to his face as he looked from one astonished person to another.

Glad to finally be able to move freely, and with every one of his muscles screaming in loud protest, Booth managed a step forward. He felt his right foot hit something and stopped, glancing down at the clatter of metal on the lab floor.

He peered fuzzily down at the object. A dim memory triggered, and he recalled dropping the nail gun after using it to nail himself into the crate, the tool's recoil having sent shards of agony through his injured wrist.

Mouth opening, trying to get past the arid desert in his throat, Booth looked up again to meet the brilliant blue eyes that had gone wide with horrified concern. "Hey, there, Bones…" He wondered dimly at the dry rasp he produced instead of the cheery bluster he had been striving for.

Booth blinked blearily at his audience again, noting with some worry that they seemed to be fading away into a gray haze. Knees sagging, inevitable darkness rushing towards him, Booth threw out his left hand, groping for something to support him.


	12. Chapter 12

Everybody in the lab moved at once, surging forward to help, but Hodgins was closer and quicker. "Whoah! Easy there, big guy!" Hodgins darted under Booth's outflung arm to catch him, staggering under the larger man's weight as Booth's legs suddenly gave out completely.

He could feel wracking tremors tearing through the FBI agent's battered body as he tried to lower him gently to the floor. His concern, sharp and sudden, didn't make its way into his voice as he spoke a soft reassurance, "Hey, 's'okay, we gotcha, Booth."

Some of Booth's weight was taken from him as Wendell grabbed Booth's T-shirt from behind. As Bones reached their side, the two men managed the feat of getting Booth turned onto his side and lowered down to the floor without dropping him.

Wendell rose, letting Brennan take his place at Booth's left shoulder. "Booth?" She questioned urgently as she helped Hodgins gently roll the big man over onto his back. "Booth?" Brennan's voice was calm and contained, but when Hodgins raised his eyes to meet hers, he met a gaze that was as concerned as his own.

The movement as they rolled him ripped a breathy moan from Booth, and Angela dropped to her knees at his head. "Shhhh, sweetie." She soothed, placing a gentle hand against one side of his face. Brennan's hand cupped his other cheek and together they held him still. Angela raised her eyes, tears already spilling over and Bones met her gaze, her own blue eyes swimming before she looked back down.

Booth's eyes opened slightly at their combined touch and his mouth worked, forming silent words that they couldn't make out. A crease at one corner of his mouth hinted faintly at one of his infamous grins, before a wince, a shudder and a cry of pain closed his eyes and erased the smile, turning it into a grimace. Both Angela and Bones looked up to find Hodgins moving Booth's badly swollen arm, trying to see beneath it.

"Jack!"

"Be careful!"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry…" Hodgins chanted the litany of apology, but didn't stop what he was doing. As carefully as possible, he moved the agent's arm, exposing a blood-soaked wad of rags that had been pressed tightly under it. He pulled the crusted material away from Booth's stomach and hissed an expletive as the injury was exposed.

Bones raised her eyes from the ugly wound. Her voice was soft and filled with pain, but her words were matter-of-fact. "He's been stabbed."

Tight-jawed, meeting her gaze over Booth's prone form, Hodgins nodded. He flicked a quick glance up towards Cam. "Call 911."

"On it." Cam already had her cell phone to her ear. Her wide-eyed stare of dismay didn't seep into her tone as she started speaking, "This is Dr. Saroyan of the Jeffersonian, we need…"

Letting Cam's voice fade under more important concerns, Brennan turned her head, her voice urgent as she spoke to the young intern standing behind her. "Wendell, get me some of those towels…" She gestured to the items on one of the trays sitting next to a nearby table.

Hodgins worked swiftly, pulling Booth's T-shirt up and away from the wound. "Oh, my God." Angela's voice was filled with horror as she watched the blood flow freely, pooling and running, re-staining the waistband of Booth's already blood-soaked jeans.

Jack shot a glance from Brennan, to Wendell, and then reached out to grab Angela's hands, pressing them down hard onto Booth's shoulders. "Ange, hold him." His blue eyes bored into hers.

"What? Why?" Angela gasped and then paled as she watched Bones take the towels Wendell handed to her and fold them into a compress the size and shape of the bleeding gash in Booth's stomach.

"Oh, God," she whimpered in sudden understanding as Wendell dropped down next to Brennan, throwing his arm across Booth's thighs and using his body weight to hold them.

"He's lost a lot of blood…" Brennan's voice was thick with worry and reluctance. Her hand, holding the towels just inches over the wound, trembled.

She hesitated, and then looked up into Hodgins' face, her eyes blue pools of misery as she whispered raggedly, "I don't know if I can…"

"Very fast and without empathy, Dr. B." Jack's voice was firm, his mind flashing back to the close confines of a buried vehicle as he repeated her own words back to her. A muscle quivered tightly in his jaw and his blue eyes met hers with unwavering support and sympathy.

"Right…"

After taking a deep breath, Brennan nodded once, indicating her readiness and Jack gripped Booth's injured arm to securely immobilize it. Bones, moving swiftly, pressed the makeshift compress mercilessly against the wound in Booth's stomach, applying firm pressure.

Booth's bellow of outraged agony echoed throughout the lab and he jackknifed against the floor. Pinned by Angela's hands and Wendell's weight, he tried in vain to twist away from the pain before he slipped into unconsciousness.

A soft sob broke from Angela as she removed her hands from Booth's shoulders to stroke his face in silent apology. Her eyes lifted to meet the horrified determination in Brennan's face as Temperance continued to hold the compress in place with her left hand. Her right hand gripped Booth's left in white-knuckled desperation as she stared down into his face.

Angela reached out to cover Brennan's hand with her own, and a split second later, Jack's hand covered both of theirs comfortingly. When Brennan's eyes rose to meet hers, Angela smiled in shaky reassurance.

"They're on their way." Cam's voice broke the silence.


	13. Chapter 13

A squeal of the tires was echoed by a squeak of dismay and a gasp that resounded inside of the confines of the small silver car as it raced along the road. Brennan didn't spare a glance back at her passengers, knowing Angela had both hands nail-deep in Hodgins' arm and her face buried in his shoulder. She kept her own eyes pinned firmly on the ambulance in front of her, determined to keep up with it as it blazed its way through the D.C. streets.

Her hands rested lightly on the steering wheel, guiding the car with deft, if reckless, precision. She accelerated suddenly, whipping the wheel to the left and edging into a space only inches in front of a large SUV.

"Whoa! Dr. B!" Jack's voice mingled with another squeal from Angela. Brennan heard the laughter in his voice as he continued, "Now I know why Booth won't let you drive!"

That comment warranted her full attention. Bones shot a retribution-promising glare into the rear-view mirror to meet Hodgins' twinkling blue eyes. Angela raised her head long enough slap his shoulder and admonish him, "Jack!"

"Sorry!" Yet another squeal of tortured rubber and the necessity of grabbing at the back of Brennan's seat to keep himself and Angie upright ruined Jack's laughing apology. Brennan ignored both of them, once again focused fully on following the ambulance.

At the hospital, Brennan was forced to break off the chase and pull into the patient's parking lot instead of following the emergency vehicle. She, Angie, and Jack piled out of the car in a tumble of awkward impatience and jogged across the parking area.

The nurse at the admittance desk glanced up at their rushed entrance and gave them a practiced smile designed to sooth agitated loved-ones. Her efforts were wasted as the three members of the Jeffersonian team reached her desk in a rush.

"I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan. We're here for Seeley Booth. Agent Booth."

The nurse glanced down the computer on her desk, typing as she asked, "Are you a relation?"

Bones clenched her jaw in impatience and then bit out, "No." In contrast to her abrupt tone, her blue eyes were pleading, the furrow between them shouting her concern.

"She's his partner," Hodgins interrupted before Brennan could say anything else. He twinkled a smile, trying to charm leniency from the nurse.

She rolled her eyes up briefly to give his attempt a quelling glance before double-checking her computer again. Reading the information, she realized that these three had been hot on the heels of the ambulance crew, a telling indicator of their concern. The smile she gave the trio before her was apologetic and a bit more personable as she addressed their obvious concern, "I'm sorry. They're just now getting him inside. I can't tell you anything more yet."

"Damn." Jack sighed.

Bones gave the woman a tight smile, unable to respond verbally. Typically, Angela spoke for them all, "Thank you. Could you let us know…?"

The nurse nodded her understanding, "Yes, as soon as they let me know anything."

"Thanks." Angie moved away, and then had to reach back to draw Brennan along. As she pulled her friend by one arm further away from the nurse's desk, she threw a wordless, comforting arm around her.

Bones didn't take her eyes from the double doors leading back into the treatment area until Angie spoke quietly, "He'll be okay, Bren." From behind the door came the muffled sounds of many bodies moving quickly, commands and orders being barked, and various electronic equipment making their characteristic beeps and hums.

"Yeah," Hodgins chimed in, his voice firm as he laced his fingers with Angela's, both of them taking comfort from the contact. "Booth's tough, Dr. B."

Brennan glanced between them then nodded, "Yes." She murmured with a firm nod. "He is." Her eyes went back to the double doors.

"What I wanna know," Hodgins smiled, "Is how the hell he got himself delivered to the Jeffersonian in a _crate_?"

"I wanna know _why_, myself…" Angie interjected, the mystery of Booth's three-week silence foremost in her mind.

Bones frowned and glanced at Angie, meeting the other woman's gaze with the same questions. She nodded, one part of her mind still strongly focused on the sounds of controlled chaos behind the double doors, another part beginning to worry at the question of what had happened to her partner during his recent assignment.

The nurse flashed them a nod and a smile as she left her post, pushing through the double doors. Brennan's blue eyes followed her progress, trying to catch a glimpse of anything behind the portals. Behind her, Cam and Wendell pushed into the waiting room, having followed after having to straighten out the chaos Booth's arrival had created at the Jeffersonian.

Cam's eyes darted from one person to another as she drew near. "Anything?"

"Not yet," Hodgins answered with a resigned shake of his head. "We got here just after they did."

Cam nodded, and then glanced at Brennan. "I put a call in to Booth's boss…they should be here soon."

Brennan nodded her understanding just as the nurse pushed back out of the treatment area. While the door was still falling shut, a resounding crash and metallic clang of metal hitting tiled floor followed her. Her smile was a bit strained as she moved over to the small group of waiting friends.

"They've got him inside now. They'll be prepping him for emergency surgery," she began. An unintelligible shout from behind her, followed by a thud and a yell and another sound of breakage tightened her smile into something more like a grimace.

"What the hell?" Jack's eyebrows had climbed to his hairline and the rest of the Jeffersonian team stared past the nurse with varying degrees of shock and dismay.

"He's…" the nurse flinched at another crash, and continued apologetically, "He's not being very cooperative. I told him you were here…" She sighed, "But it didn't seem to help."

"I can…" Brennan stepped forward, ready to push through the doors. The nurse stepped in front of her.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you…"

"BONES!!!" The bellow was unmistakably Booth's.

Hodgins stepped forward, blocking the nurse's instinctive move towards the double doors while Angie grabbed her arm. "_Go_, Dr. B."


	14. Chapter 14

Bones didn't stop to question or ask permission this time. As Angie and Hodgins held the other woman back, she darted forward through the doors. The commotion that centered inside one room in particular drew her forward and she edged between two orderlies standing in the doorway. She went unnoticed until she spoke, "Booth?"

On a gurney that was the hub of the chaos, Booth's struggles abated and his head turned towards her voice. "Bones?" His voice was hoarse and tight with pain and agitation.

Two male orderlies were standing near his head, holding his shoulders to keep him pinned to the bed. Another nurse, an older woman with a world-weary expression on her face, shot a quick glance between Bones and her patient even as the man behind Brennan dropped a restraining hand on her shoulder.

"Miss, we can't allow you back here…" He started to pull her back out of the room. On the bed, Booth gave a wordless growl and his brief moment of calm ended as he tried to buck out from under the restraining hands on his shoulders.

"Let her stay." The older nurse's brusque words caused the hand to drop from Brennan's shoulder and the woman pinned her with a steely stare. "Look. We need to get him quiet. He's been fighting since he woke up in the ambulance. He's losing blood he can't afford and we need to get him prepped. Can you keep him still?"

"Yes…I…" Bones nodded, "I can help." She hurried into the room, walking behind where the female nurse was standing at the foot of the gurney and moving up to stand at Booth's shoulder.

Her eyes flicked over him, noting the IV line that he'd obviously torn out during his struggles and the temporary splint immobilizing his injured wrist. At some point during the ride to the hospital, the EMT's had removed Booth's bloody T-shirt, and Brennan eyed his torso with a wince.

Mottled purple bruising marred his chest above the emergency bandaging that was a stark white slash across his abdomen. Her trained eye easily read the tell-tale signs of bruised ribs on his left side, as well as numerous other contusions that had been left by fists and feet. She scowled at the damage, a fury at the perpetrators racing through her as she realized just how thoroughly Booth had been beaten.

She took his left hand in hers, squeezing it to get his attention and smiling down at him when his focus turned from trying to escape to her face. "Booth, they are trying to help." She frowned at the befuddled blink he gave her, "You have to be still."

"Bones?" She felt his hand tighten on hers.

"Yes…I'm here." She reassured him before firmly ordering, "Now, let them help." Her no-nonsense tone was reinforced by a forceful frown.

"Bossy…" Booth's cheek creased slightly in an attempt to smile at her and Brennan smiled back at him at the accusation. She moved slightly, changing her stance when one of the orderlies moved up next to her and reached for Booth's arm. She kept a grip on his hand even as she allowed the man access while he began to replace the IV.

Booth's smile faded suddenly and he frowned up at her, "Socks."

"What?" Bones blinked in surprise at the sudden interjection.

"Don't…" Urgently, Booth squeezed her hand tighter as he pleaded, "Don't let'm take…" His whole body tensed in protest and he shot a glance down towards the foot of the gurney. Bones followed his gaze curiously and found the nurse that had granted her permission to come into the room in the process of slitting the right leg of Booth's bloody jeans, already moving up past his knee.

"Socks, Bones…don't let her take…" Exhaustion was thick in Booth's voice but he doggedly continued, "…socks."

He tried to jerk his leg away from the nurse and she abruptly stopped cutting. Scowling up at him, she threatened, "Son, you keep jerking 'round like that, and it won't be your _socks_ you need to worry about losing." She shot Brennan a glower, "Keep him still until that sedative takes hold."

Brennan darted a glance at the orderly next to her, noting that he was pushing the plunger of a syringe home into the IV. Her blue eyes fell back to her partner's face. "Booth, you heard her, you have to hold still."

Feeling the hot rush of the drugs burning into his arm, Booth struggled against their effect. Writhing in a physical attempt to avoid the darkness he knew would come swiftly, he implored, "Bones…" His urgency bordered on panic, and he glowered fiercely down the length of his own body. Brennan followed his gaze again.

"Could you…" Brennan gestured with her free hand, her eyes pleading with the nurse.

The nurse sighed but acquiesced to their unspoken request with a grumble, "He's dehydrated." She shook her head even as she moved towards her patient's feet. "He's lost a lot of blood…he's concussed…running a fever…probably delirious…"

She quit her beleaguered mutterings and shot a narrowed stare at the brown eyes that were watching her with an equally fierce scowl, "But in the interests of getting _you_ to calm down and _behave_…" She slipped Booth's sneakers off of his feet and then paused. A chuckle broke from her and she raised her eyes in amusement despite her frustration with the recalcitrant FBI agent.

"Honey, you got a real _strange_ sense of fashion…" She directed her comment to the brown eyes that were swiftly losing their fierceness to a glaze of drugs. With gentle brusqueness, she slipped the bright, neon-green, turquoise-blue and black-striped socks off of him with a deft hand. Carelessly rolling them together into a ball, she proffered them to Brennan.

"There. Now, unless you have some weird attachment to the _rest_ of your clothing…" The nurse's acerbic words as she returned to the task of divesting him of his jeans were lost on Booth. His eyes had followed the transfer of the socks from the nurse's hands to the hands of his partner with an unswerving intensity.

Brennan held up the wad of cloth, watching as Booth's eyes tracked it. "See, I've got them, Booth." His tautly held muscles began to relax.

"Have to …" His voice faded, the drugs beginning to take effect. "Safe…kee'm safe, f'me, Bones…" He sagged back into the bed with a groan, letting the drugs roll over him in a wave. "Nee'…m'socks…"

"Booth?" Bones absently shoved the balled-up socks into her jacket pocket and reached for his hand again, leaning closer to catch his words as Booth continued to speak, his voice growing fainter.

"Fish…Tell Cullen, B'nes," he slurred, blinking owlishly up at her, the drugs dragging him rapidly down. "Fish 's safe…safe…tell Cullen…get fish…"

"Booth, that…doesn't make sense…" Brennan glanced at the female nurse once again, her eyes filled with growing concern at his incoherent rambling.

"He's really out of it, sweetie." Her voice was a study in mingled concern and amusement. "I'm surprised he lasted this long." She turned her gaze on the waiting orderlies, "C'mon, let's get him patched up…" Following her directive, one man grabbed the wheeled bed and started to pull it towards the doorway while the other wheeled the IV pole next to it.

"Bones?" Booth's hand tightened on hers suddenly, halting the movement of the gurney. Beleaguered sighs broke from both men as they paused.

Brennan ignored their impatient huffs and answered her partner patiently, "Yes, Booth?"

A lopsided grin, sloppy and silly despite his split lip, crept across Booth's face as he gazed blearily up at her. "Made it h'me…din' I…huh, Bones?"

"Yes, Booth…you did."

His grin faded into chagrined sadness. "S'rry…'bout…y'r mummy…" Dark lashes shadowed his cheek as he lost the battle against the drugs, his voice trailing off into a heavy sigh. Despite his relaxation, his fingers continued to grip hers until Brennan gently pried them away. She watched silently as the gurney was wheeled swiftly down the hall.

* * *

_AN: Ok. It's not complete...but this is it for now. Most of this was 98% done before I posted the first chapter here and, u__ntil I can find a home version of "Dragon Naturally **Thinking**" somewhere, I'm stuck being the pathetic too-slow go-between betwixt the whirly-gig jumble of stuff roiling around in my head and the computer keyboard. _

_I do have stuff that wants to get out and make this more like an "almost-episode" instead of being just the glorified one-shot it is now...but it may take a little longer before I post anything more. It's all just dialogue and scene-flashes at the moment._

_I find it absolutely amazing that people are liking this and reviewing it. THANK YOU SO MUCH!_

_PS. I have no medical training and hope I was vague enough with details to not offend any medical personages that might be reading..._


	15. Chapter 15

The waiting room was quiet, too quiet. Angela, leaning against Hodgins' shoulder, aimed a concerned glance across the short distance that separated her from Brennan, taking note of the distracted worry on her friend's face. She hesitated, for once unsure of what she should say, or if she should even say anything at all to break the silence.

Scanning the room, she met Cam's gaze briefly, just long enough to share strained smiles, before she located Wendell who was studiously staring at a bulletin board. As she watched, the young intern rolled his shoulders, trying to alleviate the tension that they all felt.

Her eyes found Brennan once again, and she willed the other woman to look up. Brennan didn't. Instead, Angela watched as her friend's blue eyes traveled from the double doors leading to the emergency room to the nurse's station and then back to her own fingers that were twisting in her lap.

Her eyes moved from Brennan's face to the clock on the wall and she sighed. The slight sound brought Hodgin's eyes to her face and he squeezed her reassuringly. "It's only been an hour, Ange." His voice was soft, but it carried in the quiet of the waiting room.

Angela smiled at him, her expression a mix of worry, sadness and impatience. "I know, but it seems like…"

"Hey…our G-man is tough."

Wendell glanced over his shoulder with a faint grin and he caught Cam smiling at Angela and Hodgins, amused by his proprietary choice of words. "He'll be ok." Hodgins' tone dared Booth to prove him wrong.

Angela smiled back into the earnest blue eyes that were trying to reassure her. "Yeah…but still…" Her thoughts and words were interrupted by a commotion near the door.

Cam's head jerked to the left, her eyes narrowing as Deputy Director Sam Cullen stormed through the doorway leading to the parking lot. Angela and Hodgins watched with mild interest as the man stalked up to the nurses' station. Wendell turned, observed Cullen for a long moment, and then he walked back across the room to drop into the seat between Brennan and Cam, closing ranks.

Brennan, jolted out of her reverie, lifted blue eyes to watch as Cullen demanded information from the young woman at the desk. She watched for a moment, and then turned to the group around her. A swift exchange of glances was all it took to cement their solidarity as five sets of eyes met.

The nurse's words to Agent Cullen carried across the room to them. "Dr. Brennan was with him before they took him back to surgery." Her smile was tight with irritation as she pointed in the direction of the small group from the Jeffersonian.

Cullen followed her pointing finger with his eyes. Then, with a curt nod to the young woman, he stalked across the room to stand near Brennan. Glancing down, he met the shuttered gaze of the woman who stared up at him with an expression of cool objectivity.

"Dr. Brennan." His voice matched the warmth of her stare.

Brennan raised a brow and nodded brief acknowledgement of his existence. "Deputy Director Cullen."

Cullen sighed, knowing from experience that the younger woman could out-stubborn him any day of the week. He sank into the chair next to her, trying to insinuate himself into their little group, and ignoring her expression of mild surprise at his action.

Quietly, he asked, "How is he?"

Brennan's eyebrow climbed another notch at his obvious concern. Her surprise at Cullen's question didn't last long, and her voice warmed a bit as she decided to answer him, "We don't know much yet." His eyes met hers and he let her see the worry in his gaze, knowing that their mutual antagonism had no place here at the moment.

Measuring his expression, Brennan relented slightly, "He's been stabbed. They haven't given us any idea how bad the wound is." She pulled in a bracing breath that did nothing to hide her apprehension, and then continued, "They think he has a scaphoid fracture but…from what I saw…they will most likely find that it is either a distal radius or a distal ulna fracture."

She missed the glances of fond exasperation her team traded back and forth at her typically clinical correction. "And…they said he was dehydrated…and suffering from blood loss."

Cullen frowned darkly. "How the hell did…" He broke off, shaking his head. He ran a hand across his forehead, appearing as though he was trying to rub away a headache. Then, with a sigh, he asked, "Did Booth say anything?"

"Well…yes." Brennan eyed him narrowly, and then shrugged, "It was…" She shook her head dismissively, "Just rambling."

"Maybe." Cullen sighed, "Tell me, it might mean something…"

Brennan frowned and shrugged, "Okay." Her brow furrowed as she repeated Booth's words, "He said…'tell Cullen fish is safe' and 'get fish'." She looked expectantly at Cullen, tipping her head in enquiry, waiting for a reaction.

Across from her, Angela frowned in puzzlement. "That doesn't make any sense, sweetie."

"I know." Brennan shrugged, glancing her way. "The nurse said he was…probably delirious…"

Angela bit her lip and nodded. A quiet moment stretched between the small group as Cullen mulled over the words and the Jeffersonian team's collective thoughts filled with concern once again.

Cullen scowled unhappily. "Did he say anything else?" he pressed.

"Nothing…that would be helpful." Brennan shrugged again in dismissal, meeting the frustration in his eyes with a direct stare.

Having held his peace for longer than normal, Hodgins lifted an antagonistic eyebrow and pinned Cullen with a hard stare, "So, what's going on? What's Booth involved in?" His tone dared Cullen to lie to them.

Cullen flicked a dismissive glance at the scientist. Coolly, he cut him off, "Nothing that concerns you."

Hodgins drew in a deep breath, pulling his arm from behind Angela as he leaned forward with a pugnacious jut to his chin. Cam cut him off before he could speak, her own voice icy as she pinned Cullen with her own dark stare.

"I beg to differ, Deputy Director Cullen." She bit each word off with annoyed precision. "When one of _your_ agents shows up in _my_ lab looking like Booth did, I would say it _does_ concern us."

Wendell chimed in, his own tone more heated, "And when it's _Booth_…"

"Then it _definitely_ concerns us…" Angela's brown eyes narrowed with unmistakable menace.

"Dr. Saroyan," Cullen pointedly ignored the rest of the team, "I am _certain_, with your background, you can understand me when I tell you that this is a situation that…"

Cam smiled tightly, the expression tense and not even close to reaching her eyes, "Need to know, right?" Her anger glinted at him through her narrowed gaze.

Cullen tipped his head in acknowledgement of her obvious annoyance. With another quick glance around at the glowers that were being directed at him, he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and stood, punching a speed-dial number.

As he turned and began to step away, he ignored the burning sensation between his shoulders and spoke quietly into the phone. "Get New York on the line. Tell Tyler our lost lamb has shown up…"

Behind him, the Jeffersonian team exchanged quick glances and, almost as one, heaved impatient sighs and settled in to wait. Wendell slouched deeper into his chair, Angie leaned against Hodgins once more, Cam frowned thoughtfully into the distance, and Hodgins watched silently as Brennan went back to contemplating the sight of her own fingers where they twisted together in her lap.


	16. Chapter 16

_Thanks to everybody who is reading and reviewing! I'm really happy to see people are liking this..._

* * *

Brennan rose to her feet and headed towards the courtesy carafe of coffee that sat on the table beneath the waiting room clock. She glanced upwards and sighed as she noted the sluggish passing of yet another hour and a half before she picked up a Styrofoam cup and poured some of the bitter brew into it.

She heard the door to the waiting room open behind her, the noise of the world outside the hospital intruding into the silence. She glanced quickly over to see two men, dressed in ubiquitous FBI standard-issue suits, as they strode into the room and paused just inside the door.

Cullen, who had spent the better part of the past hour and a half alternately pacing while talking on his cell phone, or slouched in a chair at a distance from the Jeffersonian team, rose to his feet and waited as the two newcomers began walking towards him.

She sighed and shook her head, dismissing both of them as she turned back to the coffee, debating on whether or not to add sugar to try to make it palatable. Her ears picked up the beginning of what sounded like a rant from Cullen.

"Damnit, Tyler! I loaned you one of my best men and…"

Cullen's words became unintelligible and, as Brennan turned, she watched as he and the man he was speaking to moved away to the furthest corner of the waiting room. The tall blonde man who had been trailing the hapless Tyler glanced between the two men in the corner and the small huddle of people on the other side of the room. As Brennan watched, he ran a hand through his light-brown hair, his shoulders raising and lowering in an obvious sigh.

Dismissing the altercation, and making a visible choice to distance himself physically from it, the young man made his way across the room to stand just outside the area the Jeffersonian team had claimed as their own territory. Careful not to actually intrude until invited to, he cleared his throat.

"Uh…Hello…" Five sets of eyes pinned him with piercing stares and he smiled a bit nervously. He chose to offer his hand to Wendell, who was standing closest to him and whose gaze was just slightly less antagonistic than the others. "I'm Special Agent David Bass."

Wendell glanced swiftly around at his companions, then shrugged and took the proffered hand, "Wendell Bray." His tone was reserved. He stepped aside and back as Cam stood to greet the man, her eyes darting from the newcomer to the two men still arguing in the far corner, assessing the situation.

Hodgins pulled his arm from behind Angela, standing and moving to flank Cam's other side. Angela remained seated, but pinned the young FBI agent with dark eyes, measuring him with a piercing brown gaze. Behind them, Brennan watched the interaction with mild interest.

Cam smiled politely and offered her hand. "I'm Dr. Saroyan," she introduced herself and then gestured to each of her team in turn. "This is Dr. Jack Hodgins, Angela Montenegro, and you've met Wendell…"

Before she could introduce Brennan, Bass interrupted her with a flash of a wide friendly grin as he glanced around the group with obvious recognition, "Booth's squint squad! He's told me all about you guys!"

Cam's right eyebrow ascended, and a faint smile began to crease one cheek. She opened her mouth to comment, but Hodgins managed to speak first.

"Hey! How 'bout that!" Jack's voice held a large heaping of caustic humor along with his archetypical wariness, "Booth actually _talks_ about us." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he weighed the young man in front of them with narrowed intensity.

Cam ignored Hodgins even as Special Agent David Bass shot him a slightly wary look, "And you are?" Her inquiry was deceptively friendly, and pointedly asking for more than just the name he'd already given them.

"Oh," Bass shuffled a bit nervously, then tried a smile that was so like the smile Booth used when he was attempting to charm his way into someone's confidence that Cam almost snorted her amusement. Bass widened guileless blue eyes and shrugged slightly, "I was Booth's partner…in New York…"

His discomfort suddenly intensified as Cam felt Brennan come up behind her. She and Hodgins stepped aside as Brennan edged between them. They both blinked in surprise as Temperance stepped close to the young FBI agent, deliberately and antagonistically invading his personal space.

She poked him hard in the chest with a finger. Bass stared down in surprise at the dark-haired woman whose bright blue eyes were snapping with temper.

"You are _not_ a very good partner." The truculent words were emphasized with yet another finger poke.

"Excuse me?" Bass had to fight the urge to take a defensive step back.

"I said…" Brennan repeated her accusation, speaking with exaggerated precision, "_You_ are _not_ a very good partner." She glared up into the younger man's eyes as she lectured, "Partners are supposed to watch each other's backs…be there when…"

She broke off and glowered before drawing in a deep breath and continuing with exacting certainty, "Lives _depend_ on partners protecting each other. _You_ obviously weren't there when Booth needed you." Her rational accusation was repeated, "You are definitely _not_ a very good partner."

"Ahhh…" Brennan blinked in confusion as the agent in front of her suddenly grinned warmly down at her, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement and admiration.

"And _you_ are most _definitely_ Seeley's Bones." Bass smiled at the woman who was quietly and concisely reading him the most logical riot act he'd been subjected to in a long time.

"I am…" Brennan frowned at his unexpected response to her attack, "Dr. Brennan." Her split-second hesitation before she clarified the first part of her statement did not go unnoticed by either Booth's erstwhile partner or by the group who traded amused and knowing smiles behind her back.

"Um…Agent Bass," a hesitant voice broke between Brennan and Bass before anyone in the group could say anything else.

Bass turned with a faint smile to acknowledge the interruption. "Amelia," he gestured towards the group from the Jeffersonian, "This is Booth's team."

Cam eyed the young woman who nodded genially, her green eyes flicking quickly over them. Tall, with long black hair, the woman glanced at each person for a moment before she turned back to speak to Bass, "I…uh…I parked the car…"

Bass tried to ignore her hesitation and introduced her, "This is Amelia Cason. She's our intern and she's SAIC Tyler's assistant." Bass tipped his head in the direction of Cullen and the man who had been addressed as Tyler. Both men were staring in their direction now, impatience written clearly on their faces.

"Uh…" Amelia seemed reluctant to speak in front of the Jeffersonian staff, but she gestured towards the two men, urging Bass with a tip of her head and her eyes.

Bass sighed apologetically, "Look…I gotta go…the big man undoubtedly wants to chew me out next…" His flashed them a lopsided rueful grin as he turned. The young woman was already moving quickly across the room in front of him, obviously unwilling to make either of the other two FBI agents wait.

After a few steps, he paused briefly and turned back. "Hey, Bones…"

Brennan scowled repressively at him for the use of Booth's nickname. Bass ignored the look and surprised her by meeting her cerulean glare with a level stare of somber apology.

"You're right." He nodded firmly; regret darkening his eyes and deepening his voice, "I _wasn't_ there when Booth needed me." His jaw tightened. He bit back more words and his eyes flicked over the small group of Booth's friends, meeting each set of eyes that were watching him, openly letting them see the guilt and sorrow that he was feeling.

Brennan hesitated a moment before inclining her head in acknowledgment. Bass silently weighed her response, and then nodded slightly before turning away and striding swiftly over to where Cullen, Tyler and Cason were waiting for him.

"I like him." Angela's soft voice broke the silence left by his departure. Cam, Wendell, Brennan, and Hodgins all turned to gape at her in surprise. She lifted her eyes to meet their stares. "What?" her voice questioned their incredulity, "It's obvious. He cares." She finished simply, "I like him."


	17. Chapter 17

A tall man in scrubs stepped into the waiting area, his arrival bringing everyone in the room to their feet. His eyes darted between the two groups waiting for news and he paused, a little uncertain of which set to address first. His hesitation quickly made him the target of the small group of FBI agents.

Moving swiftly to intercept him, Cullen and Tyler presented their backs to the group from the Jeffersonian, effectively cutting them off. Bass, after darting an apologetic glance in their direction, sidled in closer to his boss to listen. Amelia hovered on the periphery of the group, within earshot, but clearly taking a subordinate stance.

Hodgin's eyebrows drew down in a scowl. Shooting a frustrated glance at Wendell and Angela, he started forward, his intent to barge into the group clear in the snapping glitter of his blue eyes. Cam dropped a restraining hand on his shoulder and, when he turned his rebellious stare on her, she shook her head in subtle negation.

For a moment, he looked as if he would ignore her directive, but then he crossed his arms with a huff and focused a penetrating glower on a spot between Cullen's shoulders. Bass, who had turned his head to give the waiting Jeffersonian group a reassuring smile, looked surprised for a moment at Jack's belligerent expression, but he quickly hid a grin and turned back to what the surgeon was saying.

Behind the doctor, the double doors opened again and Brennan recognized the older nurse from the emergency room as she slipped through the opening carrying a plastic bag with the hospital logo on it. Brennan stepped forward, determined to intercept her.

Her resolute advance was unnecessary. Rolling her eyes at the cluster of FBI agents, the nurse made a pointed detour around them and headed straight towards the group of friends from the Jeffersonian.

As she reached them, Brennan was the first to voice the question on all their minds, "How is Booth?" The anxiety in her voice was reflected in every face that had turned to the nurse.

The older woman looked at them all, her voice holding a smile as she reassured them, "He's good. They're gonna get him settled into a room on the third floor soon."

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the other group in the waiting room, "I _figured_ those suits over there would hijack Doc Simmons before he got a chance to come set your minds at ease, so I decided to come let you know myself."

Angela beamed a huge smile at her, "Thank you…" She glanced at the woman's name tag, "Brenda."

The nurse returned her smile, "You're welcome, missy." She touched each person with her eyes, than reported, "He's in recovery right now. Doc got him patched up and he's doing well."

Wendell and Cam traded smiles. Jack beamed at Angela and gave her a hug. "Told you…" he crowed, beaming at all of them with a cocky expression.

Brennan's sigh was less obvious than Hodgins's joy, but her expression relaxed before she asked, "Can we see him?"

Agent Bass slipped up next to Brennan, his eyes touching hers with a smile as he deserted his compatriots to listen to the news from a different source. His infiltration of their group was met with varying levels of acceptance and suspicion, but none of the Jeffersonian team bothered to run him off.

Brenda glanced appraisingly at him, then nodded her own acceptance as she answered Brennan's question, "Not yet. You guys can go up to the third floor waiting room in a bit…it's got better chairs."

She smiled at the frustration that creased the younger woman's brow and darkened her blue eyes. "I'll let you know when he starts to come out of it, but…I'll warn you, Doc wants to keep him sedated for a bit…"

Angie darted a worried look towards Brennan, noting the dismay on her friend's face even as she blurted her own question, "Why? What's wrong?"

Brenda shook her head. "Nothing's wrong, hon. He's in better shape than he has a right to be, actually."

She shook her head in wonder. "He got plenty lucky. Whoever poked a hole in that boy managed to miss all his vitals."

Jack's lips twitched with suppressed humor at the older woman's irreverent reference to Booth. His eyes met an answering glimmer of humor from an unexpected source as they met David Bass's glance and lopsided grin. A little disturbed at finding themselves amused by the same thing, both men quickly refocused their attention on the nurse's next words.

"We got him patched up with a few sets of stitches." Brenda winked at them all reassuringly and then focused on Brennan's worried face. "To sum it up, besides the stomach wound, your young man has a broken arm. His ribs are badly bruised, but there's no internal bleeding. He's lost a lot of blood and he was pretty dehydrated, but that's pretty much the worst of it. A mild concussion too, but we've got him on the mend."

Brennan refused to be reassured so easily. Tipping her head in inquiry, she met the nurse's eyes with a direct sapphire stare that demanded an answer. "Then _why_ do you need to sedate him…"

"Well…what with the way he woke up en route, and how he was actin' back in Emergency," Brenda shook her head. "Doc just wants to make sure he'll rest a bit. He don't want your boy coming out of it fighting like that again and maybe mess up all the pretty patchwork he just got done doing."

Raised voices from the Feds behind them drew all eyes to the other group in the waiting room. Brenda watched as Cullen and Taylor argued with the doctor, giving them a jaundiced stare before turning her attention back to her own group.

"Those guys are none too pleased with Doc's decision, but," she shrugged with supreme indifference, "They'll get over it."

She fell silent, examining the group of friends as they all watched the altercation across the room. Glancing down, she grinned and raised the bag she had been holding. Her tone was full of amusement as she proffered it to Brennan. "Oh, here you go, sweetie."

Brennan frowned down at the plastic bag even as she reached out to take it. "What's this?"

With a grin, Brenda answered, "The rest of your beau's clothing."

For a moment, Brennan frowned, not understanding. Then, as Wendell grinned, Cam hid a smile behind a raised hand, and Angela and Hodgins didn't bother to conceal their smirks, she began to respond, "Booth is my _partner_…" She stressed the word carefully, "Not my…" She stumbled over the word, "Beau…"

Brenda's eyebrows climbed and amusement was thick in her voice as she questioned, "Oh is _that_ what you kids are calling it these days?" Blithely, she continued with a negligent shrug, not giving Brennan a chance to argue further, "I figure your young man might want'm back, seein' how worked up he got over those crazy socks of his." She grinned at the younger woman, the memory bringing a reluctant chuckle from the forensic anthropologist despite her discomfort.

"I…" Brennan shook her head and gave up gracefully, "Thank you."

"No problem, sweetie." Brenda patted Brennan's shoulder before glancing at the clock across the room, "I gotta go. Got some rounds to make. I'll letcha know when your boy starts stirrin'."

"Thank you." Angela smiled at the twinkle Brenda shot back before she once again edged around the group of FBI agents and disappeared into the depths of the hospital.

A long moment of silence stretched between the Jeffersonian staff. Then, almost as a group, there was a collective heaved sigh of relief. Cam's eyes rolled upwards in a brief but fervent thank you that wasn't quite a prayer. Angela decided that Brennan looked just lost enough to deserve a hug and darted forward to suit action to thought. Jack and Wendell grinned and traded high-fives.

Standing outside the group, David Bass watched and nodded quietly to himself. He felt a surge of what he could only describe as envy as he watched Booth's people rejoice in the good news.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and he sighed as he turned to meet the direct gaze of Booth's boss. "Yessir?" He accorded the man with the respect due him and flicked a quick glance at his own boss.

"I assume you'll want to stay?"

"Yes," his gaze quickly questioned and got permission from SAIC Taylor, "I do."

"Fine." Cullen's eyes turned to Cam and the rest of Booth's team. "Let me know if anything changes?" Despite his brusque tone, most of the Jeffersonian crew could see the real concern in his eyes for one of his own.

Cam nodded with a graciousness born of relief, "Sure."

Bass turned his attention to his own superior officer as the man spoke, "Bass…Director Cullen and I are going to head to the Hoover. I'll send Amelia back with the car for you a bit later…"

"No need, sir," Bass interrupted him, "Unless you need me for something, I plan to stay until Seeley wakes up."

Taylor's eyes weighed him for a moment, and then he acquiesced with a nod, "Ok. Call me when you get anything useful from him."

Bass sighed at the pragmatic request. "Will do, sir." Taylor nodded, then, with a glance at Amelia requesting her presence, he started towards the door.

Cullen inclined his head to Brennan, his eyes flicking over the rest of the group briefly before he also took his leave.


	18. Chapter 18

_Wow! Thanks for all the reviews... I'm glad y'all seem to like this... :-D_

_Sorry it's taking so long to post... finding time to write is driving me nuts!_

* * *

Angela sighed and shifted her weight in the chair. Brenda the nurse had been right, she mused silently, the chairs on the third floor were more comfortable, but they were still waiting room chairs nonetheless. The silence in the room was driving her crazy too. She angled a glance around the room, trying to find someone willing to say something.

Brennan? Nope, her friend was steadfastly staring into a magazine. Angie knew she wasn't reading it, her focused concentration was her way of coping with her worry. Wendell had tipped his head back and closed his eyes, apparently napping.

Cam glanced at her briefly, acknowledging her, but seemed disinclined to speak. Her eyes fell on Jack to find him staring off into the middle distance, one hand absently snapping the rubber band he wore on his opposite wrist. She thoughtfully eyed David Bass where he stood, leaning one shoulder against the wall as he stared out of the window.

Speculatively, she debated on joining him and dragging him into conversation. He had been a quiet presence in the waiting room for the past half hour, silently waiting, occasionally glancing over at the Jeffersonian group with a thoughtful frown before turning back to watch the traffic outside.

Angela's second sigh in less than a minute brought a knowing smile to Jack's face and he quit his wrist-snapping and turned to her, his mouth open to speak. Angie narrowed her gaze at him warningly, which, being the darling, considerate, intuitive man that he was, he ignored.

"Impatient much?" he quipped, his eyes warm and teasing.

"You are so going to regret that…" Angie shook her head as his grin widened. With a chuckle, he leaned back and draped an arm over her shoulders in a silent apology for his smartass comment.

She let him tug her close, leaning on him as she sighed again, "I hate waiting." She felt Jack press a kiss to the top of her head.

"I know." The two words held understanding and shared impatience. She smiled, and let the silence fall in the room again, a bit more content with it this time.

"Hey, you all…" Brenda's soft voice broke into the quiet of the room a few moments later. Everybody straightened in their seats and Bass turned away from his contemplation of the night sky to focus on her. "Your young man's stirrin'" She smiled at them.

Angela's eyes brightened with anticipation, "He's awake?"

"Not really, hon." Brenda shook her head in rueful apology. "Doctor Simmons has him doped to the gills right now. He's just stirrin' a bit."

Brennan sighed. "Can we…see him, anyway?"

Brenda glanced between the worried faces, hesitated, and then nodded understanding, "Yes. C'mon. I'll take you back." She started to suit actions to words, leading the way out of the waiting room.

"You won't be able to stay for long," she warned, briskly moving down a long hallway and past a nurse's station.

The Jeffersonian group trailed after her in an eager clutch. Special Agent Bass brought up the rear, a frown creasing his face as Brenda continued speaking, "He's pretty out of it anyways, and I doubt he'll even know you're here."

Brenda paused outside a room and gestured into it. "He's in here." She pinned them with a stern glower, "Five minutes." She waited to receive acknowledging nods from each of them before she stepped aside with an understanding smile.

Brennan hesitated on the threshold for a moment, visibly trying to tamp down her emotions. Angela moved forward first, mercilessly snagging her best friend by the elbow and entering the room with her in tow. Cam and Wendell followed close on their heels, the four of them moving around a concealing privacy curtain.

Jack stepped into the room and then paused. He turned and took a small step to the left, barring the progress of the FBI agent who had started to follow them. His action was both protective and defensive.

Bass paused. Two sets of blue eyes measured and weighed each other. Hodgins's direct gaze challenging the FBI agent's right to enter the room; Bass met the test with a lift of one eyebrow that conveyed mild amusement, stoic determination, and silent denial of Jack's right to question his presence.

Two chins lifted in almost identical gestures of insolence before Jack's lips quirked slightly, his sense of humor tweaked by the stand-off. His eyes crinkled a bit at the corners in a smile that acknowledged the other man, and he tipped his head in contemplation before he gave a infinitesimal nod and turned away, leaving Bass to follow if he so chose.

Behind him, David Bass rolled his eyes in exasperation and amusement, mentally making a note to tell Booth that he needed to put a figurative leash on at least one of his pet squints. A low chuff of a chuckle broke from him, and he moved forward to join Booth's friends.

His amusement faded as he moved around the curtain to stand at the foot of the hospital bed that held his friend and temporary partner. Cam and Wendell had moved to stand on the far side of the bed while Angela, Hodgins, and Brennan took up positions on Booth's left.

Hodgins had moved to stand next to Angela, snaking an arm around her waist as she clasped Booth's unresponsive hand in her own. "Hey there, Booth." Her voice was soft, but it carried over the electronic beeps of the equipment that was monitoring Booth's vitals.

Brennan lifted her gaze from Booth's face to glance at Angela. "He…can't hear you, Ange. He's been sedated. He's unconscious."

Angela smiled warmly at her, "I'm sure he can, Bren…" She lifted Booth's hand and pressed it between her own. "He knows we're here." Her voice held certainty.

Brennan glanced across Booth's still form to see Cam watching her with a smile. Cam nodded her agreement with Angela. The cast on Booth's right arm kept her from mirroring Angela's actions so she reached out instead to cup Booth's cheek with a warm hand as she whispered, "Get better, big guy."

Bass gazed at his friend, an angry scowl on his face as he took in the pale features under the dark bruises. A stark patch of gauze at Booth's hairline earned a frown from him, and the trailing IV lines a glare, guilt weighing on him heavily as he catalogued Booth's injuries.

Brennan reached out to pull the sheet down slightly, revealing the white bandaging that covered the wound in Booth's stomach. She eyed the doctored scrapes, cuts and bruises with a clinical eye. Hodgins's eyes traveled over the purple-red bruising evident on the other man's torso and he grimaced in sympathy.

"Oh, man, he's gonna be a real bear when he wakes up." Hodgins's irreverent remark earned him glowers from the feminine contingent in the room.

Pinned by the triple threat, he started stammering, "I just… I mean… Look at him. He's gonna be sore…and…well…grumpy." Wendell chuckled a bit, and then backed off with an apologetic lift of his hands as the sound earned him his own share of the female irritation.

Even Bass smiled slightly, nodding as he interjected, "Yeah. Seeley's never been real good at being on the injured roster." He found himself suddenly pinned by five pairs of eyes at his intrusion. He shot them all an uncomfortable smile and, after a moment, their attention turned back to their friend.

Brennan pulled the sheet back up and left her hand resting on Booth's bare shoulder. The steady bleep of the monitor was reassuring in the silence.

"Excuse me?" The indignant voice from the doorway interrupted the quiet camaraderie in the room and six heads turned with varying expressions of guilt and annoyance to watch as a young man dressed in scrubs strode into the room. "You aren't supposed to be in here."

"We just wanted a minute…" Brennan was the first to speak in their defense.

"I understand…but he's not going to be awake for a while and I need to check his vitals…so…" The young man gestured towards the door, urging them to leave.

Cam sighed, "Well. Wendell and I are going to head back to the Jeffersonian. Call me if you need anything, or if anything changes." She lifted her gaze to meet Brennan's nod.

Angela caught Cam's eyes, "If it's ok, Jack and I will catch a ride back with you two." She turned her gaze to Brennan, "We'll come back this evening and I'll stop at your place and get you a change of clothes."

"Okay. Thanks, Ange." Brennan nodded back at her and then glanced back down to Booth's sleeping face.

Bass watched as the four friends filed out of the room, leaving Brennan to her own devices. Her reluctance to leave was obvious, and the nurse heaved an exasperated sigh.

Raising a quelling hand to him, Bass stepped up to stand at Brennan's side, reaching out to touch her elbow as he spoke quietly. "C'mon, Bo…"

He stopped as a narrowed pair of eyes met his in warning. He let his lips curve slightly, before giving her a wink and amending, "Dr. Brennan. Let me buy you a coffee and we'll let this kid do his job."

The scowl Brennan shot the young nurse would have withered weaker men, but the young man ignored her, scanning the monitors and writing on the clipboard he held.

Brennan reluctantly let the slight tug at her elbow lead her away from Booth's side. With a slight frown up at the man leading her out into the hall, she informed him quietly, "There is no need for you to buy me a coffee, Agent Bass."

"Well…_I_ want a coffee, and Booth would have my hide if I didn't at least _offer_ to buy you one too…"

"No," Brennan's voice echoed slightly in the hallway, "I meant, there is quite literally no need to _buy_ me a cup of coffee," she stressed the word to clarify, "They have complementary coffee in the waiting room."

Bass chuckled and shook his head.


	19. Chapter 19

"Psst!"

Brennan didn't look up from the magazine she was staring blindly into so Bass raised his voice slightly and stage-whispered, "Hey…Bones!"

Brennan glanced up with an irritated scowl. "What? And _don't_ call me Bones."

"C'mon…hurry!" Bass ignored her admonishment and beckoned to her from the waiting room doorway, his motions urgent.

She frowned at him repressively and repeated her query, "What…?"

"C'mon, c'mon…Booth looks like he's waking up." Brennan's eyes widened and she stood quickly. David grinned at her and added enticingly, "And Nurse Igor's not at his desk…"

His grin broadened as the magazine hit the floor with an unceremonious splat, Brennan crossing the floor swiftly to the doorway. He stepped back and joined her in a quick dash down the hall, his low chuckle as they passed the deserted nurses' station drawing a quick sidelong glance from her.

A small half-smile graced her mouth as she darted into Booth's room one step ahead of him. He brought up the rear, pausing long enough to pull the door almost closed behind him. He pulled the privacy curtain to its fullest extent as well, hoping the material would keep any prying eyes from seeing Booth's visitors if a casual glance was aimed through the cracked door.

He turned to find Brennan already at the side of Booth's bed, her right hand once again resting lightly on her partner's shoulder. Her other hand gently grasped Booth's, careful not to dislodge the oxygen monitor on his index finger. He watched as Booth responded to the touch, his head turning restlessly on the pillow and his eyes moving under closed lids.

"Booth?"

The tone of the woman's voice brought Bass's eyes to Brennan's face and he smiled inwardly. Desultory conversations with Booth had hinted at the fact that the older man was possibly enamored of his squint partner, but Booth had never given David the idea that the feelings might be mutual. One eyebrow rose thoughtfully as he watched Brennan's eyes search Booth's face for some sign of true awareness.

"Hey, Seel, you slacker." His voice was rowdy and chivvying as David moved up the bed to stand near Booth's other shoulder.

His tone brought a faint frown to Booth's face. His eyelids flickered and he shifted restlessly in the bed. David glanced up to flash a happy grin across his friend's prone form, glad to have gotten a response.

Brennan scowled back at him, disapproving of the young agent's harassing tone. When Bass's grin widened unrepentantly under her glower, she shook her head in exasperation and turned away from him to focus on her partner. "Booth?" She was careful to keep her voice quietly modulated, "Are you awake?"

Obviously fighting the drugs in his system, Booth struggled to open his eyes. Blinking blearily, he squinted, frowned blankly up at the ceiling, and then tipped his head to the left, searching for the source of the voice was as familiar to him as his own. "Bones…"

The query was slurred and thick, and his eyes drooped, fell shut, and then rose to half-mast again. Brennan smiled down at him as he finally forced his eyes open a little further, the chocolate brown depths almost obscured by the black of his pupils.

"Hi," her greeting was simple, not hinting at the depth of meaning that passed silently between them as their eyes met and held.

A lopsided, loopy grin spread slowly across Booth's face. Totally uninhibited pleasure lit his eyes even as they started to sag shut again and he breathed out a soft greeting that was more of a sigh, "Hey…"

"Oh, man…" Bass's jovial snort of amusement was accompanied by a prodding nudge to Booth's right shoulder as he jibed, "What I wouldn't give for a camera right now…"

A frown furrowed Booth's brow, the drugs clouding his thoughts enough that it took a moment for him to connect the voice to memory. After a moment, he slowly turned his head, his eyes tracking to the man standing on the other side of his bed. The frown deepened as he met the blue eyes that twinkled back at him.

"Bass?" There was befuddled disbelief in Booth's voice.

David grinned broadly. "Hey there, sleeping ugly," he greeted the older man irreverently, earning him a puzzled and defensive glower from Brennan that he blatantly ignored.

His jibe earned him a dismissive grunt of annoyance before Booth pointedly turned his head back toward Bones. He sighed again, his eyes meeting hers before he let the drugs pull his heavy eyelids back down once again.

"Booth?" The concern in her voice and the tightening of her fingers on his managed to make it through the fog of drugs enough for him to try to respond. Not quite able to force his eyes open again, Booth smiled slightly in an attempt to reassure her as he enjoyed the feel of her hand in his, and the warmth of what he'd finally identified as her other hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon, Seel-man, wakey wakey. We got bad guys to catch…" The voice from the other side of the bed, irritating and annoying, drew a low sound from Booth that was as close as he could get at the moment to a warning growl.

"F' you, Fish." Booth frowned at the sound of his own voice, slurred and blurry with drugs, vaguely upset that his pithy retort had been less than eloquent.

Bass laughed. "Aww, man, you told me you didn't swing that way…"

This time, though he still refused to turn his head away from where he knew Bones was standing, Booth found himself letting his irritated frown give way to a faint smile at Bass's standard retort.

Trying to pry his eyes open, he did his best to will the drugs away. He tightened his fingers on the ones that were holding his hand, managing to get his eyes open just wide enough to catch a glimpse of the puzzled look that Bones was dividing between his face and the younger agent on his other side.

With an attempt at quiet dignity, he ordered, "G' 'way, Fish.

"Nope." Bass's insolent retort had the exact effect Booth knew the other man was seeking. He found himself turning his head in order to shoot a fuzzy glower up at his tormenter.

A reluctant chuckle broke from him as he met the gleaming amusement in Bass's blue eyes that did nothing to hide the younger man's relief and concern. Booth winced, the chuckle having sent a lance of pain through his stomach and ribs, unpleasantly reminding him of why David Bass was hovering over him in a hospital room.

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, the drugs making a quick retreat under the assault of renewed pain. Unable to stop himself, he tensed against it, causing a fresh tremor of agony to run through him.

"B'str'd," Booth's voice was a strained combination of feigned complaint and honest, annoyed irritation, "L'mme die in peace, w'll ya." He decided that, at the moment anyway, he preferred the hazy cloud of drugs to Bass's irritating presence and he relaxed enough to let it wash over him again.

Brennan frowned down at Booth, bewildered at the by-play between the two men even as Booth's grip on her fingers tightened at an obvious jolt of pain. She shot a glower across the bed as Booth's fingers slowly loosened, his body relaxing back into the bed.

David met her glare with a lift of one shoulder, not asking for forgiveness as he quietly continued to try and drag Booth out from under the blanket of drugs in his system. "No can do, Sarge." He watched as Booth pointedly turned his head away, avoiding him.

"C'mon Seeley," he badgered mercilessly, "There's a pretty lady here who's worried about your lazy ass…" He ruthlessly dragged Booth's partner into the attempt to get a more coherent response from the older man.

"Oh! I get it." The sudden exclamation came from Brennan. She glanced quickly down at Booth, watching him struggle to open his eyes again at the sound of her voice, before she turned her gaze back up to Agent Bass.

Bass lifted his eyes in confusion to meet the wide blue stare of comprehension that Brennan was giving him. He frowned, not understanding her sudden interjection.

"An Alpha-male bonding ritual…" She seemed pleased to have made the connection.

Totally flummoxed, Bass stared at her with wide eyes and blurted intelligently, "What?"

Out of the periphery of his vision, he saw a slow smirk creep across Booth's face at his question, even though the other man's eyes remained stubbornly closed.

"The heckling…the name calling… Anthropologically speaking, they are a…bonding…between two Alpha males when one is injured… "

She frowned at him suddenly, another thought sidetracking her momentarily. "_You_ are 'Fish?'" Her tone was a combination of revelation and accusation as she recalled the conversation with Booth in the Emergency Room.

She frowned, her eyes growing distant in thought as she repeated Booth's words in an almost inaudible murmur, "Fish is safe." She tipped her head and eyed the younger man appraisingly for a long moment. After a second, she nodded as if coming to a decision.

"Huh?" Freshly bewildered, Bass gaped at her.

She ignored his ineloquent query and glanced between him and Booth. She noticed the smile on Booth's face, which had widened considerably as he listened to his partner baffle the other man. He blinked once, twice, and then his brown eyes gleamed up at her with proprietary amusement.

"'at's m' Bones…" There was obvious laughter in his tone under the tired sigh of his words.

"You are…_very_ strange." Her glance made it clear that both men were included in that sweeping denouncement.

Booth chuckled, gave her fingers a squeeze, and then reluctantly turned back to Bass, his deeply ingrained sense of duty overpowering the drugs in his system more swiftly than either the banter or the pain that continued to threaten. He sighed, ignoring the twinge of his ribs as he shifted in growing discomfort and tried to focus his thoughts. "T'ler's here?"

"Yeah." David's face underwent a change. The boyish teasing disappeared into the mature, sharp-edged focus of an FBI agent on the job.

Having watched the same flow of changing expressions on her partner's face over the years, Brennan removed her hand from Booth's shoulder and began to draw away to let them talk business without distraction.

Booth's fingers tightened on hers, preventing her from stepping aside, even though his attention remained on Bass as the other man asked, "What happened, Seel?"

Booth shook his head and sighed, "Was tipped." He shifted on the bed again with a grimace of pain, his words curt despite the lingering effects of the drugs. He scowled at the thought.

"Ours?" Bass's question was clipped, his jaw tight, his eyes hard as they scanned Booth's face.

Booth met his eyes and gave a regretful nod, "Think so…" His voice slurred again and he shook his head, still trying to clear his fuzzy thoughts.

"Damn…" Anger flared to life in Bass's eyes as he glared blindly across the room.

Brennan glanced between them while Bass stared angrily at a spot on the wall behind her and Booth's eyes drooped slightly again. "What are you talking about?"

Booth sighed, knowing he needed to be able to think straight. "Bones, raise me up, will ya." He twitched his fingers, realizing she was still holding his hand. When she released him at the motion, he tamped down a disappointed sigh.

She frowned down at him and he cringed inwardly, knowing there was going to be an argument from her. "Booth…that's probably not a good idea…you've suffered numerous…"

"Bones," he interrupted her, trying to head off the lecture, and coaxed, "C'mon, jus' gimme the bed thingie there…" He pointed to the bed controls which were just slightly out of reach. When she continued to stare at him in disapproval, he exhaled sharply, "I can't think lying down like this …"

"I don't see why you wouldn't be able to think while in a prone position." Reluctantly, because Booth appeared to be mustering himself to lean forward under his own power to grasp the device himself, she placed it in his hand. "Sitting up is going to cause you pain, Booth," she warned him censoriously as Booth pushed the button to raise the head of the bed.

"Exactly." He gritted the word out from between clenched teeth as the bed responded with alacrity and so did his battered torso.

Brennan stared at him in disbelief "What?"

"He's using pain to clear his head…" Mingled regret and understanding were heavy in Bass's voice as he watched Booth grimace against the renewed discomfort.

"Damn drugs…" The words came out on the heels of a gasp as the head of the bed came to a stop with Booth into a semi-sitting position.

Brennan frowned, her brow furrowed with anxiety as she watched him. "This is…unwise, Booth."

"Yeah, I know." Booth admitted freely, but with a firmness that indicated his determination. He had no intention of abandoning his current course of action, and he gritted his teeth against the screaming protest of bruised and torn muscles even as the pain cleared his head. His own brows were knit as he focused on the young agent next to him, "Okay, kid…"

"Tyler?"

"No…at least, I don't think so." Booth shook his head. "Can't be sure. There wasn't a hint…" Booth frowned thoughtfully, still trying to unravel the memories, "Not 'til the day before I called you…"

He was interrupted by a voice from the other side of the room, "You again." The words were expelled on an exasperated huff and they brought three sets of eyes to focus on the man standing at the end of Booth's bed.

The young man Bass had irreverently christened 'Nurse Igor' scowled impatiently at them and gestured with the hand that was not holding a clipboard and tray with several syringes on it. "I told you before; you aren't supposed to be in here." He moved closer, glancing down at his patient with a practiced eye, noting the tell-tale signs of pain in the man's face and the altered state of the bed.

"Look, I-" Bass stopped before he blurted out the moniker that would probably only annoy the young man further. He fell back on a standard defense instead, flipping his badge out. "I'm FBI. This man is a material witness to an attempted homicide…" He waited for the apologetic stammering to begin.

The young man glanced only briefly at the badge as it was flashed, moving past Brennan to check the IV lines and instruments at the head of Booth's bed. He set the tray down, scribbled something on the papers attached to the clipboard.

"And?" he questioned blandly as Bass's voice trailed off, the young agent stymied by the lack of awe and respect his identification had brought. Not waiting for a response to his challenging query, the nurse continued to check the numbers on the screens and transfer the information to his clipboard, effectively dismissing the FBI agent.

Bass dropped a glare down at his erstwhile partner as Booth at first snorted in amusement and then winced as the sound earned him a jab of pain. "And…" he visibly struggled to drag out something impressive enough to cow the young nurse, "And…he's a suspect in an inter-state smuggling ring…"

Bass avoided Booth's gaze, knowing that he would be the subject of a hairy-eyed stare of disbelief. Instead he found himself being examined narrowly by a pair of skeptical blue eyes from across Seeley's prone form as Brennan stared at him, doubt and amusement in her gaze.

"Smuggling?" Booth's voice was soft, but it held every bit of the incredulity that Bass was trying to avoid seeing in the older man's amused stare.

"Smuggling what?" Brennan's voice meshed with her partner's as she tipped her head curiously.

Bass sighed and dropped his eyes to Booth with a sheepish shrug, entirely forgetting about the young nurse as he defended his accusation. Sublimely uninterested by the exchange, the young man shook his head and changed out the bag of fluid at the other end of his patient's IV line.

"Well…technically…you smuggled _yourself_ over state lines…"

Booth chuckled, and then winced strongly at a punishing stab of bruised ribs. "Lame." Succinctly he denounced Bass's attempt.

"I concur," Brennan readily agreed with Booth, glancing down at him. Softly, she confided to him with utmost sincerity in her voice, "He is definitely not as proficient as you are at intimidating the general populace with official credentials."

"Well, Bones," Booth's pleasure at her compliment vied with the tight white lines that bracketed his mouth as he shifted again, trying to find a more comfortable position. "He's still a wet-behind-the-ears kid…"

A wince and a stifled moan escaped him as he doggedly continued, "While I'm a big, bad fully-fledged FBI guy." He sucked in air in a gasp, his eyes closing briefly before he shot a teeth-gritted smile up at them both.

"Right, Seel-man," David drawled as he eyed the older man's face with a mix of reluctant admiration, annoyance at the jibe, and worry. "Why don't we just cut the crap and you tell me what you found out before you, Mr. Big, Bad-ass FBI guy, pass out from the pain you're causing yourself…"

Frustration fought with concern in Bass's voice and he raised his eyes to share an exasperated glance with Brennan. A moment of silence stretched between them before Booth spoke again, his retort unexpectedly slow in coming.

"'s'okay, Fish…'s rel'y not s' bad an' m're…" Both sets of eyes flashed back to Booth's face at the slurred and dreamy words. Even as they watched, Booth's eyes drifted shut despite his attempts to keep them open, and his head sagged until his chin rested on his chest.

"Booth?" Alarmed, Brennan reached out, tipping his head back against the pillow where it lolled unresponsively. She scanned his face in alarm when neither her voice nor her touch brought a reply.

"Damnit!" Bass's outburst brought her panicked gaze up quickly to find the other agent shooting a murderous glower past her, his eyes snapping with fury. She turned, catching the young nurse as he pulled an empty syringe from the IV port in the tubing that led to Booth's arm, the second syringe already sitting empty and discarded on the tray next to his clipboard.

Totally inured against both the FBI agent's glower and the indignant stare he was getting from the woman at his patient's side, the nurse reached out and plucked the bed controls from the now-unconscious man's hand. Under his direction, the bed reclined once again with a soft whir and the young man insinuated himself between the woman and the head of the bed so that he could adjust the pillow more comfortably under his patient's head.

He turned a spurious smile on them both as he informed them with an air of smug superiority, "That will probably keep him out for another eight hours or so. Might I suggest that you both go home and get some rest? Visiting hours begin at eight a.m. tomorrow."

Brennan and Bass watched in disbelief as the man picked up his tray and clipboard and calmly walked out of the room. Bass gripped the metal railing on his side of the bed, leaning against it and hanging his head down with an angry, unintelligible mutter. Brennan watched him for a moment, and then turned her gaze to her partner's sleeping face, watching as the lines of pain eased away.

"Shit…" Brennan watched as Bass turned away from the bed, running a frustrated hand through his hair as he paced to the window and stared out into the gathering D.C. night. She glanced at the clock and sighed, knowing that Angela would be back at the waiting room before too long.

She reached out and tugged the blanket up higher onto Booth's chest, making sure he had adequate warmth to rest comfortably. She gave his hand another slight squeeze, just in case Angela's dubious theory about the unconscious man being able to know of her presence was correct, and then turned to make her way out of the room.

She heard Bass's footsteps as he followed her. She didn't turn, knowing by the string of muttered imprecations that preceded him that the young agent was very probably not in the mood for conversation.

She sighed and decided to meet Angela on the first floor of the hospital, using the physical movement as a way to deal with her own frustration. She passed the doorway to the waiting room, hearing Bass pause slightly before he decided not to follow her.


	20. Chapter 20

_Ok...here's a bit more...._

_I'm crossing my fingers at this point...I don't normally post as I write (usually it's the whole totally finished shebang or nothin')...because I hate continuity errors!_

_I __am doing my best to avoid writing myself into a corner or making some big goober mistake three chapters from now that will force me to come back here and rewrite this one. _

_;-) Wish me luck!_

* * *

Bass twitched out of the light doze he had fallen into and then flinched as he opened his eyes. He froze, finding himself surrounded by four members of the Jeffersonian team as they stood staring down at him. He rolled his eyes to scan each face as they stood in a loose semi-circle and waited for him to fully wake.

Their silent scrutiny warned him, and he drew in a deep breath. He uncrossed his arms, pulled in his legs from where he had stretched them out in front of himself, and shoved himself into a more upright position in the waiting room chair. His eyes flicked over Brennan, Cam, Angela, and Hodgins as the four of them dropped into seats around him.

Angela, having plopped into the seat to his right, leaned towards him and drew his gaze when she was the first to break the silence with a quiet demand, "Ok, give…"

"Excuse me." Warily, he eyed her before he glanced at each of the others. Brennan sank gracefully into the seat directly across from him and pinned him with a direct blue stare. Hodgins settled into the seat across from Angela and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his own crystal blue gaze fixed steadily on Bass.

Cam took the seat on the other side of Brennan. She raised an eyebrow and gave Bass a tight-lipped smile that brooked no argument, "Explain to us how Booth ended up…" Gracefully, Cam indicated with a gesture the waiting room and, by extension, the hospital, "In here."

"Uh…" David darted yet another glance around the group, obviously trying to decide what he could or couldn't say. "I don't know if…."

"Nuh-uh…" He turned to his right to find himself facing a very sweetly determined glare from Angela as she shook her head. "Ain't buying it…."

"Yeah," Hodgins chimed in from across the aisle, his voice as firm as his stare as David turned to him, "Don't even try that '_need to know'_ crap with us." He gave Bass a thin smile, the expression not softening the hard edge of his voice or eyes. "Cullen's already tried feeding us that line."

Bass drew in a deep breath, measuring their expressions and finding them all united in their intent. He sighed, weighing them with his gaze, then, telling himself sternly '_these are Booth's people_', he relented, "Okay."

"Well…" He ran a hand through his hair, mentally choosing and sorting his words, hoping to be able to satisfy them without getting himself into too much trouble with his boss. "I'm sure you already know that our department requested some help from D.C. We've been working short-handed for months."

Three impatient nods and an unrelenting stare from Brennan answered him. "And…after we asked D.C. for help we ended up…" He sighed heavily. "Well, we ended up needing assistance even more."

Cam's knowing gaze pierced him. "Problems?"

"Yeah." David flicked a quick glance at her, then shrugged and continued with reluctant honesty. "We had an operation go south on us… " He hesitated, then sighed, "We lost a man." The weight of the tragedy darkened his tone.

Cam's lips pressed together in a thin line and she nodded understanding, "Just what kind of operation are you talking about."

"Drugs." His answer was short. At Cam's delicately raised eyebrow and stern glower, he sighed and leaned back in his chair as he gave her the details she was silently requesting. "Meth specifically. There's an outfit that we've been trying to shut down for over a year now. They're well-organized, tight." He shook his head in frustration. "All of our efforts so far haven't panned out…they're always one step ahead of us."

"You've got a mole…" The flat statement of fact came from the man seated on Brennan's left.

Cam rolled her eyes and then shook her head with an exasperated sigh as she chided, "Hodgins…"

"What?" The fire of paranoia flared brightly in Hodgins's blue eyes, softened only by the quirk of his lips as he caught the bemused glance Bass aimed at him. He continued earnestly, "It's gotta be…it's the obvious answer…" He shrugged, his certainty unshakable.

"Not _so_ obvious…our office hadn't considered it until…just recently…" Bass eyed Hodgins with the same detached curiosity the entomologist occasionally used on subjects under his microscope lens. Hodgins met his gaze, his direct stare questioning why it had taken them so long to consider the possibility.

Dry wonder in his voice, Bass commented sardonically, "Booth really _wasn't_ kidding about you…" Hodgins answered the dig with a snort, and leaned back in his chair with an air of superiority.

"Anyway, we _did_ consider that possibility…." Bass conceded, trying to ignore Hodgins. "It did seem like they knew what we were doing before we could put anything into motion…" He scowled into the triumphant grin Hodgins shot him, "But, so far there's _nothing_ to prove it."

"Except what Booth said earlier…" Brennan's voice was soft as she quietly contradicted him. Her voice pulled his gaze up to her as Brennan glanced around at her other companions and explained, "When Booth woke up…he implied that he thought there was…"

"A mole…" Hodgins interjected smugly.

"Yes," Brennan nodded, accepting the interruption without it slowing her in the least. "A mole…in your organization…"

"Yeah, well… It's a possibility." David was reluctant to admit the fact, "But right now it's just conjecture."

"No." Brennan's voice was firm. "Booth was _very_ clear on that point." Brennan pinned him with a direct stare as she ticked off the facts she had put together from the conversations with Booth. "He trusts you implicitly." David's eyes widened, her revelation catching him by surprise.

"He does not _think_ SAIC Tyler is involved, but has decided to reserve judgment." She glanced at Cam and confided softly, a bit of mild exasperation with her partner showing in her tone, "I think that this is one of those times Booth is thinking with his internal organs again."

She turned her direct stare back to Bass, missing the amused shake of Cam's head, "But he is _certain_ there is someone who…" Brennan faltered slightly at the slang. "Tipped him up."

Bass stared at her in bemusement, one eyebrow climbing. He wasn't sure whether to be amused by her incorrect turn of phrase, or impressed at her ability to read into the disjointed and drugged snippets of information that they had gleaned from her partner.

Hodgins sniggered slightly, and then raised a hand to hide his grin while Cam closed her eyes and bit back a chuckle. Brennan glanced from face to face, her expression showing her puzzlement.

"Um…sweetie, I think you mean that Booth is certain that someone "_tipped off_" the bad guys." Angela took pity on Brennan's confusion with a smile.

"Oh," Brennan frowned, tucking the phrase away for future use, "Yes." She turned her expectant gaze back on David Bass.

David shot a quick glance around the small group, unsure of whether to laugh or beat his head against the back of his seat. Instead, he decided with a sigh to concede the point and continue his explanation, "Okay. There is a _good_ probability that we have someone feeding this group information." He admitted the chance reluctantly, guilt and anger both warring within him at the thought.

"We've been trying to gather enough evidence to put a halt to the operation. So far, we haven't had any luck getting anything solid even though we've had a couple of teams working on this for almost a year. Then, about six months ago, we had a breakthrough." David glanced around the group as they listened with full attentiveness.

"One of _our_ techie types," he gave the group around him a nod of acknowledgement, "Was getting close to pulling out enough data for us to make a move on them. He was putting together some intel that he said would be enough to take out the operation from the top down."

Bass sighed, "He had promised to get us the information soon, and then, he just didn't show up… And, all of the data he'd collected…everything he had…disappeared right along with him. It kind'a put a halt to everything."

He dropped his gaze to the ground, falling silent for a moment before he raised his eyes to the people listening to him. His voice was flat as he continued, "Then, two months ago, he finally turned up…" His jaw clenched around the next words.

"Dead." Cam's interjection was as flat in tone has his had been, full of understanding and anger.

David's blue eyes darted over to meet hers and he nodded abruptly. "Yeah. Very dead. And we still have very little idea about what happened. He was found, shot through the head, execution style, in a ditch on the south side of the city."

Hodgins leaned back in his chair, a frown furrowing his brow. Cam, Angela and Brennan exchanged glances filled with understanding. Bass continued speaking, not noticing the reactions, lost in his continued narrative.

"The head of this group is a man named Samuel Jenkins. He's ex-Army. They call him '_the Captain_'." Anger in his voice, David raised his hands to air quote the term. "Our background on him is sketchy, but we're pretty sure he never really held that rank, it's just an affectation that he's adopted."

His blue eyes snapped with leashed rage as he continued, "His whole organizational structure is military based. He's been doing this for years and his recruits are generally ex-military…usually dishonorable discharges."

"And…" Brennan's voice was calm, her mind already having leapt to the connection. "_Booth_ is ex-military."

Bass gave her a wry smile, acknowledging her guess, "Yeah."

Angela shot a quick frown between the two of them before her eyes widened in understanding. "And so, when they sent Booth up to you…" Her stare turned accusing.

"Yeah," David squirmed in his seat, feeling the weight of four pairs of reproachful eyes as he shrugged and admitted, "It was a perfect opportunity to see if we could get someone in on the inside…set up a sting operation."

"So your boss ordered him to go undercover…" Hodgins's disapproval was thick in his voice.

"No," Bass refuted the other man's accusation firmly, "Tyler didn't _order_ Booth to do anything." David sighed in exasperation at Hodgins's skeptical glance.

"We just presented the problem to him." He leaned forward earnestly as he continued to explain, not quite able to hide his own feelings of guilt about what had happened to the older agent, but wanting to explain the situation to Booth's friends.

"Look, the shit these guys are making is _strong_. This organization isn't into pushing their stuff at street level…but they're the source…and they're turning out a _lot_ of product. The pushers have been really hitting the schools hard in our area using the stuff they're making."

Understanding immediately, the Jeffersonian group traded meaningful glances before Cam spoke their thoughts aloud, "Booth and kids…"

"Yeah." David nodded at Cam's succinct summation. "Once he heard, he volunteered…" He sighed, running a hand along his jaw as he thought back. "Getting him in was easy…it was a perfect setup…"

"It obviously was _not_ perfect…" Brennan's comment was a quiet contradiction, but had a biting edge that earned her a measuring glance from the young FBI agent. Her friends exchanged quick looks, ready to jump to her defense if Bass decided to take exception to her acidic comment.

Bass studied Brennan quietly for a moment before choosing to continue, keeping his tone mild, "It was the most optimum opportunity we'd had so far." His deliberate change in phrasing deflected the direct blue stare that had been pinning him as Bones gave the slightest of nods, accepting the qualification.

"With just a few doctored files on his military record, we had a good cover for him…and we figured his specialized…" Bass glanced around the group listening to him and decided to use the euphemism, "Training…would make him pretty irresistible to Jenkins." He discovered that his discrete phrasing had been unnecessary as expressions of swift comprehension crossed the face of every person there.

"I guess having a sniper on hand would be pretty tempting to a group like that…" Hodgins muttered to emphatic nods from the others.

Bass hid the surprise he felt as he realized just how much Booth trusted these people. A small smile edged his mouth as he relaxed slightly, now just a little more comfortable with giving them more details with the explanation they wanted.

"We made sure that there would be no connection between Booth and our office. Tyler made it public that the D.C. office had turned down our request for help…" Bass turned a jaundiced eye on Hodgins as the acknowledged conspiracy theorist of the group, "Just in case Booth decided to agree to the sting op." He got a regal nod of acceptance from the entomologist in response and he sighed.

"I met Seeley at the airport before he could report to Tyler and told him what we were up against. He didn't hesitate…most of the op was his idea actually…" David met Hodgins's quick eye-roll with a bland stare,

"Booth went UC immediately. And his cover worked. He got in with these guys pretty quick." Bass shrugged, letting a bit pride show as he continued, "He kept contact to a bare minimum—only just enough to let me know that he was getting to a point where he thought he could get enough on these guys to put them away."

"But…somebody got wind of it despite your precautions…" Cam's words were less a question than a statement. Her lips tightened, her background in law enforcement leading her to the conclusion.

Bass met her gaze, seeing the understanding in her eyes as his jaw tightened over the word. "Yeah," He sighed, "We're not sure who or how yet, but I got a call last week from Seel. The op had gone all to hell."

Bass shifted in his seat, the very thought of the hasty phone call he'd received making him edgy all over again as he remembered the urgency that had been in Booth's voice at the time. He scrubbed a hand across his face and sighed. "He was rushed, under pressure. He said he had what we needed but that he'd been made. We arranged for an extraction…but…"

Cam watched as the young agent's jaw clenched around the rest of the words, his eyes going distant and unfocused. She had seen firsthand the results of undercover work that had gone wrong and knew the angry, frustrated, and helpless glint in his eyes. Softly, she finished for him, "He never showed up."

Bass dropped his eyes to meet her knowing gaze, "No." The word was gritted out before he visibly shook off the memory. Clearing his throat, he continued, "We looked everywhere." His voice revealed the hopeless urgency that he had felt during the search for his temporary partner.

"We hit every place we'd already identified as being part of Jenkins's business fronts, but…we came up with nothing." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and scrubbed both hands across his face.

"Then I got another call from Booth late Saturday night. He was on somebody else's cell phone and he sounded…well, he sounded like hell. The connection was cut off before he could tell us where he was." He shook his head, reliving the moments, his eyes distant once again.

He missed the exchange of glances between Cam, Brennan, Angela, and Hodgins as he continued speaking, "Our techs managed to use the cell signal to narrow things down to the old wharf are, but by the time we got there, he was gone again. We found…" He broke off, remembering the blood-soaked rags.

He gritted his teeth, his blue eyes haunted. He glanced around the group and decided to edit what he'd been about to say, "We found… evidence… that he'd been there, but no Booth. We had to assume that Jenkins's men had managed to get their hands on him."

Bones scowled fiercely at him, "Booth always says that when you '_assume_' it makes…"

"So…" Cam jumped in and interrupted Brennan's antagonistic words before she could finish the cliché and possibly offend Bass, "What did…"

Her attempt did not go unnoticed, Brennan's glower transferred briefly to Cam before Bass held up a hand to halt the flow of words. Cam stopped speaking and she, Hodgins, and Angela all darted uneasy glances between the FBI agent and their friend as Bass gave a determined frown and turned his full, undivided attention on the forensic anthropologist.

Leaning forward to face Booth's partner, David waited until Brennan's focus had turned back to him. Softly, but with a voice that had a steely core, he challenged her, "You don't like me very much do you?" He tipped his head in inquiry and silently demanded an answer with his eyes.


	21. Chapter 21

_Well...I am on a **Bones** high tonight...and scared to death of what they may have done to Ep 100! Next week is waaay too far away!_

_Thank you for the great reviews... I'm glad y'all seem to be liking this... and I HOPE maybe some of you will like the poor wee fishie a teensy bit better after this...poor guy! *grin*_

_I found it quite funny how a lot of you had the same exact response to him as Brennan did (and yes...I had this first line of dialogue written before I read any reviews!) Bones minds think alike??? :-D_

* * *

Bass's answer wasn't long in coming; Brennan's accusation was acerbic and biting, "You almost got Booth killed." Her chin jutted forward and her brows lowered as she met his steady stare with an antagonistic glower.

"Yeah," Hodgins's voice mingled with Angela's as they both softly supported Brennan's hostile declaration.

"Guys!" Cam shot them a quelling glance, sure that Bass would react badly to being ganged up on.

"Shhh…" Bass raised a hand to shush Cam without taking his eyes off of the woman who was testing him with a defiant cobalt gaze.

Cam looked at him in surprise, taken aback at his unexpectedly restrained response. A long moment stretched in the waiting room, thick with tension between the two people who had a unique claim on Booth.

David nodded slowly, his posture softening, but the expression on his face no less intense as the challenge in his gaze eased into open honesty. Almost gently, he acknowledged the resentful accusations, "That's ok...she's right…you're all right…" He flicked a quick glance at the other three people before turning back to find Brennan's blue eyes now watching him warily.

"I _did_ almost get him killed." He swallowed hard, finding difficult to continue to meet Brennan's gaze. "I _knew_ Seeley wouldn't be able to turn down the op when we presented it to him. I _knew_ what kind of danger he'd be putting himself in…"

"And I'll be honest; the fact that he's in _here_ because of me…it's tearing me up." The admission softened Brennan's fierce stare as Bass swallowed hard.

She tipped her head, frowning at him in confusion, "Why?" she asked quietly. With the direct bluntness that she used with everything else in her life, she questioned his logic, her tone holding a lingering hint of antagonistic anger, "To _you_…Booth is…just another agent…not even from your office. A temporary partner…on loan…why would it matter…?"

"Because…" Bass clenched his jaw for a moment; debating silently before he decided to open up to these people, Booth's friends. "Because Booth is _not_ just another agent to me. Booth and I…we served together…in the Army."

He watched Brennan's eyes flicker in silent acknowledgement of the meaning that would hold for both himself and for Booth. He knew he'd made the right decision in telling these people as all four of his listeners relaxed slightly, leaning back into their seats and exchanging quick, considering glances.

The woman before him tipped her head back slightly, studying him carefully. Her expression softened somewhat, encouraging him to continue with a lift of an eyebrow. For a moment, Bass felt like a kid whose teacher had suddenly demanded that he follow up an outrageous statement with a lengthy list of supporting specifics.

A self-deprecating smile began to creep across his face, and his eyes softened as he recalled, "I was a seventeen-year-old, wet-behind-the-ears, raw recruit…and Sarge…Booth...he looked out for me… made sure I didn't screw up too bad."

He ignored the swift exchange of glances Booth's team were trading and continued, "It seemed like he was always dragging me outta trouble of one sort or another. He acted like…" He faltered slightly, searching for the right words.

Brennan found them for him, "An overprotective older brother." She stared at him with understanding in her blue eyes as she supplied him with the right phrase.

"Yeah." Bass dropped his gaze, unable to meet the sympathy that had replaced the antagonism. "Hell, he was like that with most of us in the unit anyway. That's just how Booth is…you know," He tried to brush off the fact, lifting one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. "But…he just was…worse…with me for some reason." He shrugged self-deprecatingly.

"You probably remind him of Jared in some way." Cam's voice was soft as she nodded, accepting his explanation.

"His brother? Yeah, maybe," Bass shrugged and smiled at his memories, "I know I gave Seel holy hell the entire time we served together." He lifted his gaze to Brennan and smiled with real amusement, "That's when he stuck me with that gods-be-damned nickname."

"Huh?" Hodgins glanced between them with a bewildered frown.

David's mouth turned down in a wry grimace, "My name…Bass…" He lifted an eyebrow at the Hodgins's puzzled nod, "I started calling him Seel…just because I knew it bugged the hell outta him… And, so he stuck me with …" He glanced at Brennan, a twinkle in his blue eyes inviting her to join his amusement.

"Fish…" Brennan smiled. David leaned back in his chair, nodding his head and spreading his hands in a gesture of submitting to the inevitable.

Angela quietly recalled Brennan's conversation with Booth's boss. "Tell Cullen fish is safe…" She repeated the words aloud, missing the pleased surprise that crossed the younger man's face at the implied compliment. "He meant you."

"Seel and Fish." Cam's voice was choked as she smirked at him. Angela's chuckle mixed with Hodgins's outright laughter as the three of them enjoyed the joke.

"Yeah," Bass sighed in feigned aversion, "A _real_ funnyman…that was Sarge." He rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

Hodgins was the first person to request a return to Bass's earlier explanation. Leaning forward with a sigh, he asked, "Ok. So what happened after you searched for Booth…?" The quality of his questioning had subtly altered, and Bass was glad to finally hear a less hostile tone from the other man.

"Well, like I said," David sighed, "We thought Jenkins had taken him. We hunted everywhere we could think of…but…"

He rolled his head, trying to loosen the tension in his neck and shoulders as he started remembering the feelings of defeat and loss again, "To tell the truth, I was expecting him turn up like our tech…" His eyes bleak, he stopped talking for a long moment.

"Instead…" Cam gently jolted him out of his reverie and he noted that even her voice had softened towards him.

"Instead…" Bass sighed, his relief showing in his grin as he leaned back in his seat, "I'm glad to say that he _somehow_ managed to get his sorry ass back down here to D.C." David met three smiles and a nod before he leaned forward and urged them, "Your turn…how the hell _did_ he end up here anyway? Cullen didn't say…"

The group of friends exchanged smiles. Shaking her head, Cam began, "Well…"

Hodgins interrupted her with a wry chuckle, "Let's just say we got a surprise package today…" He flicked a quick glance at the clock on the wall, noted the time, and corrected himself, "Er…yesterday."

"Huh?" Bass glanced back and forth between them, bewildered.

Angela stepped in with a smile, taking pity on the young man, "_Somehow_, Booth managed to get himself shipped to the Jeffersonian…" She nodded matter-of-factly, grinning at David's blank look of befuddlement.

Cam nodded as he glanced at her for confirmation and drawled, "Imagine our surprise when we open up a crate, expecting to see a couple of two-thousand-year-old mummies…" She raised a sardonic eyebrow when she was once again interrupted by Hodgins.

"And our G-man himself comes stumbling out of it instead…" Hodgins's blue eyes twinkled with humor.

"A…" Bass frowned, his mind searching for a memory, "Crate…"

Oblivious to the young agent's racing thoughts, Hodgins continued to speak, his voice a mixture of amused disbelief and admiration at Booth's unorthodox method of arrival. "Yeah. Second-day freight…straight from New Yawk, New Yawk." He grinned impishly.

Bass's eyes widened in sudden understanding. Jolting upright in his seat, he yelped, "The warehouse!"

"What?" At his outburst, Cam tipped her head to the side and eyed him curiously.

"That's where we lost his trail…in a warehouse in the wharf district…" Bass shook his head in disbelief, "Damn! I bet he was still in there when we searched…" His voice fell in dismay as he realized how close they had been to rescuing his partner a whole lot sooner.

Contemplating Booth's unusual method of escaping his pursuers, Bass rolled his eyes, "I don't believe it…that crazy son of a …" Bass broke off, shaking his head incredulously.

"Booth is…" Brennan's quietly controlled voice broke the silence as she shrugged, "_Very_ resourceful."

All eyes turned to meet the serene smile that graced Brennan's face as she made the soft statement. Smug pride in her partner was the most evident emotion in her expression, but everyone in the room except Bass suddenly exchanged significant grins at the unconscious warmth that had softened her blue eyes.

The soft, knowing laughter that broke from Angela and Hodgins drew a puzzled frown from Brennan. Cam glanced down, shook her head, and then sent a chiding glance towards the other two members of her team which had predictably no effect. She sighed and lifted a shoulder in defeat as she met Bass's questioning gaze.

Before she could say anything, a voice from the waiting room doorway interrupted her. "Agent Bass?"


	22. Chapter 22

"Oh," Bass twisted around to see Amelia standing in the doorway to the waiting room. "Hey there, Cason." He shot her a lazy smile of welcome as she moved further into the room.

She appeared a bit hesitant as she found herself the object of scrutiny from four sets of eyes. Nodding politely to the Jeffersonian team, she quickly turned her attention back to Bass.

"Uh…SAIC Tyler sent me to see if you wanted a ride to the hotel?" Her green eyes met his questioningly.

Bass shook his head even before she stopped speaking. "No, thanks…"

"I didn't think you would," She interrupted him with a smile, her green eyes sparkling with humor as she lifted her left hand to display the dark blue duffle bag she'd been holding. "Here's your bag."

Bass chuckled, standing and moving to her side to take it from her. "Thanks, Amelia."

"Um…yeah," Amelia raised the second bag she was holding, a large neon-orange, white, and black duffle with a Philadelphia Flyers emblem on it. "I, uh…brought Special Agent Booth's go-bag too." She glanced up at Bass, as if seeking approval, "It was in the trunk with yours."

Bass snagged the other bag from her as well with a warm smile, "Great…thanks."

"No problem." She smiled at him, and then glanced uncertainly around. "Uh…how is he?" She shrugged a little, turning wide eyes on Cam as David moved to drop Booth's duffle into the chair next to her. "Has he woken up?"

Cam smiled at her and tipped her head to indicate Brennan as Bones answered the other woman, "Yes. He woke up a little bit ago."

"Oh, that's great." Green eyes turned to pin Bass with a direct stare, "Did he give you any information? Anything we can use?"

The team from the Jeffersonian exchanged offended glances at the suddenly businesslike questions. Hodgins and Angela exchanged scowls and Cam's face went carefully expressionless. Even Brennan tipped her head to the side with a measuring glance at the young woman.

David sighed in annoyance that was only partially directed at the young intern. "No. You can tell Tyler that Booth only woke up long enough to acknowledge us. They shot him full of dope too quick for me to get any information from him."

Amelia picked up on the irritation in his voice and carefully avoided the narrowed stares that were aimed at her from the other people in the waiting room. "I'm sorry…" she apologized to Bass with a resigned shrug, "You knew that would be…"

"Yeah, I know," Bass sighed, "It would've been the first thing out of his mouth too… you don't have to explain Tyler to me, Cason." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Just tell him that Seeley's not said anything yet and that I'll be sure to report to him as soon as he is conscious long enough to string together a coherent sentence." His voice was gruff with aggrieved exasperation.

Bass tossed his own duffle bag onto a nearby chair and sank back into the seat he had deserted. Amelia gave him a commiserating smile, "Ok. I'm sorry. I just…" She sighed heavily, "He just wants so bad to get this group…"

Bass tipped his head back and eyed her sourly, "Yeah. I know…and I know why." He shook his head, "But he's got to step back from it a little, you know? He's making this _way_ too personal."

Amelia nodded agreement as she sank down to perch on the edge of the seat next to him, "Yeah. It's just that we don't have anything to work with… I think he's hoping that Agent Booth will have what something…"

"I'm pretty sure he does, Amelia," Bass sighed and let his head fall back to rest on the chair back as he slouched down in his seat, "And if I know Booth, he'll be raising hell tomorrow and be ready to give us whatever he has…just tell Tyler to back the hell off for a bit." Fatigue and irritation warred in his tone.

Amelia rolled her eyes at him in a wide-eyed stare of terrified disbelief and her mouth quirked in a slight smile. He eyed her for a long moment, and then shrugged and smirked, "Ok…well, maybe you shouldn't phrase it _quite_ that way…" They both chuckled.

Cam quietly interrupted, asking the question for all of the Jeffersonian team, "What kind of information do you think Booth might have?"

"I'm not sure." Bass rolled his head on the back of the seat to face Cam. "He said on the phone that he had some concrete evidence, but he didn't have time to say what." He eyed them consideringly, "You didn't find anything in the crate with him did you?

"Just a nail gun and a mummy…" Hodgins quipped sardonically.

Bass snorted a light laugh, "Don't think those're what we're lookin' for…" He frowned thoughtfully for a moment before clarifying, "One of the things we've been trying to track down is _where_ this group is manufacturing their product. The man that was killed, our tech, he said that he'd found data on some locations that might be the site of their lab."

"Did your people find anything on his body that could give you some leads on where to start looking?" Hodgins's voice was thoughtfully quiet and his eyes touched Angela's and Brennan's in a brief, silent conference.

"No. Nothing." The words were uttered flatly on a tired sigh, and Bass let his eyes fall shut, closing out the bright lights above him.

"If it wouldn't be stepping on jurisdictional toes…" Cam's voice was tentative as she shot a quick glance at her team and received nods from each of them, "Have you considered having our team take look at what you _do_ have?"

Bass's eyes flew open. "Wha…?" He shoved himself upright in his chair, his eyes darting from person to person. "Could you…?" He frowned thoughtfully, his mind obviously racing.

Next to him, Amelia also glanced around the group, her face showing interest and a bit of trepidation as she let her gaze fall on the older FBI agent, "Do you think Tyler would…"

Bass shot her a quelling glance, a light of unholy glee in his eyes, "Beg forgiveness…" He quipped a fragment of the familiar cliché as he dug in his pants pocket, pulling out his cell phone. His eyes traveled over the Jeffersonian group once again, assessing them. "Booth swears you guys are the best…" The words were a question, not a statement.

"We are." Brennan's quiet words were firm, incontestable, as she nodded and glanced at Cam, Angela and Hodgins. Her blue eyes returned to him with a level air of quiet expectation.

"If there's anything to be found…we'll find it." Hodgins's voice was somber, making the words a promise instead of a boast.

Bass's gaze went from Cam, meeting a calm collected nod from her, to Angela, whose bright smile held serene confidence. "Okay." A fierce light entered Bass's blue eyes as he hit a speed dial number on his phone.

The team from the Jeffersonian traded glances that ranged from amusement to approval as they listened to the disjointed, one-sided conversation Bass began with the hapless soul in New York that had answered the phone. Amelia watched David as he spoke, her eyes wide with misgiving.

"Hey…it's Bass, 51669. Yeah. I can't say right now, buddy. Hey, I've got a request…I need you to send me all the evidence we've got from Kinsey's autopsy. Yeah. I know. Yeah, yeah…I got you… Look, it's _my_ ass, just _do_ it, okay? That's right, _everything_ we've got…every scrap. To the Jeffersonian in D.C, the Medico-Legal Lab…uh huh, yeah, that's it. Right. Just put '_Attention: Bones'_ on it."

Bass chuckled and rolled his eyes to catch a deadly glare being aimed at him. Choking on a laugh, he amended with feigned terror, "Uh…scratch that…put '_Attention Dr. T. Brennan_' on it instead." He winked at Brennan, earning chuckles from Hodgins and Angela, and an even narrower glare from Bones for his pains.

David fell into seriousness as he listened for a long moment to the person on the other end of the connection. Nodding, he answered with quiet somberness, "Yeah. I hope so. I've been told they're the best…if they can get anything it might help… Yeah. Ok. Um…no. Let's just get the stuff here, let me worry about Tyler. Yeah, rush it. Thanks."

The cell phone '_snicked_' shut with a decisive snap as David raised his eyes to meet the questioning stares that were directed at him. "Done." His voice showed no sign of hesitation.

Cam eyed him narrowly. "Um…what part of '_stepping on toes_' eluded you?"

Brennan glanced at Cam, and then turned her own questioning gaze to the young Agent across from her. She quietly warned him, "I don't think that SAIC Tyler will be very happy that you didn't follow the proper chain of command."

David sighed and sank back into his chair. "Probably not," he smiled tightly, "But I'll deal with that when he starts screaming at me. You should have everything early this…" He glanced at the clock and then looked at Cam, his blue eyes direct and totally serious as he amended, "Later this morning. Say nine or ten'o'clock. He's expediting it. It should be on one of our jets in a couple hours."

Cam weighed him with her eyes, and then nodded, "Ok. Fine." She flicked a glance around at her team and rose from her seat, "I suggest we all get some rest then. Guys?"

Hodgins and Angela stood as well, glancing down at Brennan. Angela spoke first, quietly urging, "Bren? You ought to at least grab a few hours sleep…"

"I…" Brennan hesitated, torn.

Bass leaned across the aisle separating them and touched her knee fleetingly to draw her attention. When her blue eyes met his, he spoke softly, "You go ahead. I'll watch out for Booth for the next few hours." He smiled reassuringly at her doubtful look, "You can spell me in the morning."

Brennan tipped her head, considering him for a long, slow moment. Then she nodded shortly and stood. "Fine. Call if anything…"

David smiled up at her, "I will." When she hesitated for another moment, still clearly holding an internal debate on the issue, he dramatically drew a large 'X' over his heart with a finger, "I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die…" He grinned at her, expecting to get an answering smile in return for the childish promise.

Instead, Brennan frowned at him in confusion. "Why would you…" she started to say in puzzlement.

Angela cut her off by the expeditious method of planting her hands in the middle of Brennan's back and gently shoving her forward, "Forget it, sweetie…he promises…let's go."

"But, Ange…"

"Home, Bren." Angela was firm and unrelenting in her motion.

Amelia rose to her feet and glanced down at Bass. "I'm going to head to the hotel. I'll check back in tomorrow?" She waited for his accepting nod before she started towards the door, following Cam, Angela and Brennan.

Hodgins filed past David behind the four women, grinning broadly as he watched Angela continue to usher a protesting Brennan out the door. He glanced down briefly to shoot Bass a quick half-smile, "Later, dude." The hard-edged suspicion and mistrust was missing from the casual words and something in his tone made Bass feel as if he'd somehow joined a very exclusive club.

David raised a hand in acknowledgement of both the entomologist's words and his change in attitude. He watched until Hodgins had disappeared out of the door, and then glanced back up at the clock on the wall.

With a huff of tired exasperation, he surged to his feet and strode over to the window, staring out into the night. The view caught his attention for only a few moments before he dragged his right hand through his hair and paced back to his seat. He stared blindly at the empty doorway for a long moment before his jaw firmed.

Reaching down, he snagged both his and Booth's go-bags, hefting them easily. His stride was swift and determined as he exited the waiting room, took a right turn, and stalked boldly past the nurses' station.

The young man behind the desk scowled at the FBI agent's broad back until Bass's resolute steps took him unerringly into Booth's room. Irritation and frustration warring on his face, the young nurse debated silently for a long moment before he shook his head and decided the battle wasn't worth the effort. He picked up his pen and went back to the paperwork before him.

In the low light of the room, surrounded by the quiet beeps and hums of the monitors, David dropped both bags in an out of the way corner. He dragged two of the room's three chairs around to face each other, angling them so that he would be able to see both the doorway and the bed, before he dropped onto the makeshift couch. He stretched his long legs out to rest on one chair, shoved his shoulders into the uncomfortable seat back of the other, and glanced over at the man sleeping soundly nearby.

"G'night, Sarge…" Bass's voice was low, but it carried across the intermittent beeps of the machinery in the room.

He sighed, crossed his arms over his chest and let his head droop. He fell swiftly into a light doze, a legacy from his military training that would allow him to rest while still remaining aware enough of his surroundings to respond immediately if the need arose.


	23. Chapter 23

_First off... Kudos to **chucky89us** ... I think you are the only person that commented on Bass's badge number... I had fun with that! Wasn't sure if anyone would catch it! LOL_

_Second...sorry updates are taking so long... I have a lot more written...but it's not up to snuff yet...and the squints are being a tad bit difficult these past few days!_

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed any part of this! It's a real rush to see your comments!!_

* * *

Brennan transferred the plastic bag she was holding from her right hand to her left before she swiped her security card. As she started up the stairs that led to the lab's forensics platform, her glance touched on Wendell and Cam where they stood on opposite sides of the lighted lab table, staring down at the items scattered across it.

As the chirp of the security device echoed in the room, Cam turned and Wendell's eyes came up to watch Brennan advance on them. Wendell gave her a friendly smile and nodded as Cam spoke for them both, "Good morning, Dr. Brennan."

Brennan paused to set her purse and the bag she was carrying on a stool in front of one of the stations, and then continued forward. As she reached the table, her eyes lifted to meet Cam's and she returned the greeting, "Good morning."

"I thought you'd be at the hospital this morning…" Cam asked an unspoken question with the slightly worried frown between her eyes, a subtlety that Brennan missed.

"I was." Brennan's voice was calmly matter-of-fact as she glanced with curious interest at the items spread across the table.

Her eyes traveled quickly across the spread of X-ray flimsies, autopsy reports and the scattering of evidence bags. She frowned up at Wendell, "There's no body?"

Cam sighed, shook her head, and traded amused glances with Wendell. "I _meant_…" Cam expounded patiently, "How's Booth?"

Wendell answered Brennan's question at the same time, his voice meshing with Cam's, "No. They sent us all their files and specimens though."

Brennan frowned at Cam as the security device bleeped again behind her, "If you wanted to know _that_, then…"

"I should have _asked_ that…I know." Cam nodded with a forbearing expression. Her wry words were overshadowed once again as Hodgins spoke at the same time.

"Hey, hey, Dr. B.!" Hodgins's greeting was a cheery explosion of sound as he bounded up the stairs and rounded the table in a rush to stand at Wendell's side, interrupting them. His eyes did a rapid scan of the table before he lifted them to question Brennan, "So, how's our G-man doing today?"

Brennan blinked at Cam, trying to decide if she required a response to her statement before she let Hodgins's more direct question distract her. She sighed, letting her disappointment show as she shook her head and answered, "He was still asleep when I got there. The doctors say…" She paused for a moment as one of the x-ray sheets on the table caught her attention.

Absently, she continued speaking as she picked up the flimsy and held it up to the light, "He seems to be doing very well." Her brows drew down in a discontented frown and she pinned Cam with a direct blue stare, "Is this all they sent us?"

"Uh…yes." Cam shook off the confusion she felt and focused on the question, laughing inwardly as she realized that she should be used to Brennan's ability to hold two conversations at the same time. From behind her, the security alarm burbled once again, announcing Angela's arrival.

Hodgins was already hovering over the end of the table where evidence bags and specimen bottles were neatly arranged. With deft fingers, he plucked up one item after another, scanning their contents and labels.

"Hmmm…mine…" he tucked a bottle into his lab coat and continued sorting, pocketing some items, and setting others aside. Angela stepped up to stand next to Cam and watched with bemused interest as he divvied up the evidence.

"Mine…yours…mine…mine…yours…mine…ugh!" With an exaggerated grimace of distaste, he set one jar that contained a viscous fluid and an unidentifiable mass of tissue firmly aside, "Definitely yours!" He flashed a mischievous grin up at Cam who was watching him with an expression torn between amusement and exasperation.

Wendell grinned and reached across the table to gather up three larger evidence bags. "Here…clothing… and shoes…I think these'll be yours."

"Hmmm…" Hodgins eyed the contents of the bag holding the shoes appraisingly, "Nah…these are way too small to be mine…"

Cam heaved a heavy sigh, closing her eyes to the wiseass grin Hodgins flashed Wendell as she asked rhetorically, "This is going to be one of your '_I am 'oh-so-obnoxious'_ days, isn't it?" She turned her long-suffering gaze on Angela as the other woman chuckled and rolled her eyes to meet Cam's stare.

"It's the late night." Angie informed her with an eloquent nod, "He gets like that if he doesn't get enough sleep." Jack winked across the table, proving Cam's theory correct by directing a smolderingly expressive stare at Angela.

Cam opened her mouth, thought twice about what she was going to say, and closed it with a snap. "Right! Oohkay…" She deliberately directed her gaze back down onto the table.

Reaching out, she snagged a stack of manila envelopes from the rest of the evidence and announced. "I am going to my office to go over these reports before I get started on the tissue samples."

"I'll see what kind of particulates they've got here and see if I can find anything they've missed." Hodgins's voice was strictly business, his tone at odds with the satisfied smirk that was still crooking his mouth and twinkling in his eyes. He bounced once on his toes and then headed to his section of the lab with a farewell grin.

"Wendell and I," Brennan included the young grad student with a glance, "Will see what we can find on these X-rays." Wendell nodded as he gathered up a stack of the films in preparation to follow Brennan into the other room where they could spread out the numerous X-rays.

Angela glanced at Brennan and frowned a bit as she questioned softly, "Bren, I thought you'd want to, you know…be at the hospital…"

Wendell paused, glancing at Brennan, asking with a lift of his eyebrows whether he would be working alone with the skeletal evidence. Brennan sighed and glanced at her watch before she answered.

"I stopped there earlier, Ange." She lifted one shoulder in a shrug that was at odds with the disappointment in her voice. "The doctor said that Booth would probably remain asleep for hours yet."

She sighed and turned her glance down on the X-ray in her hand, avoiding Angela's stare, "He… strongly suggested… that I come back later…so…" She drew in a deep breath, and then finished in a rush, "I decided that it would be a better use of my time to come here and do what I can to help…seeing how Booth would have been unaware of my presence anyway."

Brennan nodded firmly, hoping that Angela would not see the unreasonable desire she had harbored—a need to stay at Booth's side despite him being unconscious. She glanced up and realized that Angela had seen through her as easily as ever.

She met her friend's understanding brown eyes with a slightly self-conscious smile and continued softly, a more believable note of honesty in her tone, "Also…I think he would…appreciate it…if we had something useful to give him…when he wakes up."

Cam nodded her approval of the idea as she smiled and headed towards her own office. "I think you're most likely right about that, Dr. Brennan. So, if anybody needs me…" He voice trailed off as she pointed in the direction she was heading and suited action to thought, taking her leave of them.

Angela threw an arm around Brennan in a quick hug, "It's hard to sit around and feel useless while someone else is sick or hurt…" Her commiserating words drew an understanding nod from Wendell and a thoughtful frown from her friend.

"Yes." Brennan's voice was slightly hesitant as she tested the thought against the feelings she had felt while speaking with Booth's physician. "That is true."

"However, I will be leaving at one…" She nodded firmly as she informed both of them of her intentions, "Dr. Simmons assured me that he felt Booth would be awake and coherent by early this afternoon."

Angela nodded and grinned at her. "Okay. I'll let Cam know if she asks."

"Thanks, Ange." Brennan watched as Angela turned and started to walk away. She drew in a deep breath, and then started to turn back to the exam table. She paused, her eyes widening as they fell on the bag she had dropped onto the stool earlier.

Darting forward, she picked up the bag and called out, "Angela!"

"Yeah?" Angela raised inquiring eyebrows as she watched Brennan swiftly cross the distance between them. Her eyes dropped to the bag as Brennan held it out to her, recognizing it as the one that the nurse Brenda had brought to the emergency waiting room. She hesitated slightly before taking it with a puzzled frown.

"Would you mind taking this to Hodgins for me?" Brennan's tone was apologetic. "I forgot to give it to him."

"Sure, sweetie," Angie opened the bag and glanced inside. "These are Booth's clothes?" She grimaced slightly at the crusted brown-red stains she could see on the jeans..

"Yes." Brennan nodded. "I put them in my car yesterday at the hospital. I thought perhaps there will be particulates or evidence on them that would help in our investigation."

Angela smiled, closing the bag and nodding. "Good thinkin'." She started walking away again, not pausing as she called back over her shoulder, "Well, I've got a project I'm working on…let me know if you need anything from me…"

Brennan nodded, her mind already turning to the stack of X-rays that were waiting. She gathered up Wendell with a glance and headed with determined strides across the room.


	24. Chapter 24

The musical ring of a cell phone sounded loud in the quiet of the small apartment and Keane leaned over from his chair to pick it up. Glancing at the front display, he quickly flipped it open and answered, "Sir?"

"We've found him."

Keane's eyes widened as the man on the other end relayed his news. He straightened in his chair, and then leaned forward, his eyes intent. "Where?"

"He made it back to D.C."

"What?" Keane rose to his feet and the Vibram soles of his boots thudded across the wooden floor as he began pacing. His voice betrayed his incredulity, "Damn…how the hell…"

The voice on the other end of the phone connection was carefully enunciated, the words hinting at the frustrated anger of the speaker, "He shipped himself there in a crate…"

"A crate?" Keane stopped pacing, frowning blankly at the wall in front of him. He shook his head slightly as he made the connection. "The warehouse." A low chuckle broke from him as his eyebrows rose and he shook his head in disbelief, "Damn, Cap'n. That's one _crazy_ son of a bitch…"

"You sound as if you _admire_ him, Keane." Disapproval and censure mingled in Jenkins's tone.

"Wha… No, sir…" He paused for a moment before continuing, "Well, hell Cap'n…" Keane frowned, shook his head, and then his shoulders sagged slightly as he admitted, "Yeah. You gotta give him credit…it was a ballsy move…"

A long silence on the other end of the phone made him squirm before Jenkins's cold voice ordered, "I want you down there…now. I will find out how much he knows and what information he has..."

"Yessir." Keane's mouth pressed together in a firm line, his voice as tight as his body, which had unconsciously straightened into an attentive posture.

"Take Powell, Vargas, and Roberts. Be ready in case we get an opportunity."

Keane grimaced, "Vargas, sir?" Doubt was strong in his voice as he questioned his boss.

"You disagree?" Jenkins's tone challenged him.

"Sir…after what…" Keane hesitated, and then sighed, "Vargas…he wants a piece of this guy…" Keane sighed again, frowning. "In a bad way."

"Keep him on a leash." Jenkins was coolly dismissive of his concerns, "I'm sure you're capable."

"Yes, sir." Doubt showed on Keane's face, but not a hint of his reservation filtered through into his voice.

"Very good, Keane. _Fidelitas vel nex _…"

"Sir." Keane sucked in a deep breath and repeated the words firmly, "_Fidelitas vel nex_."

He flipped the cell phone shut and stood for a moment, head hanging and thoughts rushing. Then, with a sigh, he raised his head and flipped the cell open again. Dialing a number, he waited for the connection to be made, and spoke to the person on the other end.

"Powell? Round up Vargas and Rogers. Be at the airport in thirty minutes."


	25. Chapter 25

"Hey…" Angela was the last person to join the group on the lab platform in response to Cam's summons. She smiled knowingly as Brennan darted a surreptitious glance at her watch. Having also caught Brennan's motion, Hodgins flashed Angela a faint smile.

He adopted a sober expression as Cam scanned her team and then quietly requested updates. Starting with Brennan and Wendell, Cam glanced across the exam table at them and asked bluntly, "So, what have you guys come up with so far?"

"There was massive damage to the skull caused by the gunshot wound to the head. It left a good portion of the frontal portion intact, but without access to the skull itself…" Brennan began.

"Understood…" Cam wasn't ready to have either Brennan or Wendell start lamenting the lack of first-hand evidence if she didn't have to, so she cut in, "What are we looking at with what we _do_ have?"

Wendell glanced at Brennan who nodded for him to go ahead with the explanation. With a nod, Wendell hung one of the X-rays up on a lighted viewing panel. "Well…most notable are impact fractures in a line from here…" He pointed as he spoke, "And here…to here." He glanced around at the other people in the room as he explained, "They suggest blunt force trauma to the victim's head prior to the gunshot wound."

"Blunt force trauma…" Cam nodded before asking, "A fist? Or something else?"

"The nature of the fractures does not appear to be consistent with a fist." Brennan stepped in to clarify, "A weapon much harder than that would be more probable."

"The gun maybe?" Hodgins turned a querying glance on Brennan and Wendell both as he asked, "Could they have come from him being pistol-whipped?" Next to Brennan, Angela winced at the thought.

Brennan shook her head, quietly expounding, "The damage to both the sphenoid and the supraorbital process indicate something substantially longer than a gun barrel and of slightly larger diameter."

"Hmmm… a pipe or something like that, maybe?" Hodgins tipped his head as he postulated the new idea.

"Possibly. Without the actual skull…" Brennan shrugged, frowning her dislike of having to work with nothing but the X-rays. Cam nodded understanding, commiserating with her slightly after having to deal with the findings of a medical examiner's reports instead of a body.

Wendell put another X-ray up on the viewing screen and pointed at areas as he spoke, "There are also signs of fracturing on the ramus and mandible…here on the right side of the skull, as well as bone bruising around the zygomatic bone that are more likely to have been caused by a fist…or possibly an elbow."

Brennan handed him another set of X-rays, and Wendell added them to the ones he already had hanging. These showed the bones of the victim's upper body, and Wendell pointed as Brennan spoke, "There are also fractures on the seventh, eighth and ninth ribs on the left side, and a clean break on the tenth rib."

"So…broken ribs, a broken jaw, fractured eye socket…" Hodgins eyed the damage before turning his gaze on the rest of the group. "Basically, somebody beat the crap out of this guy." Hodgins's drawl drew a raised eyebrow from Cam and a slightly disgruntled look from Angela.

"Yes." Brennan acknowledged his non-clinical assessment with a nod despite her dislike of the less than factual summation.

"Also," Wendell spoke up, picking up one X-ray flimsy and pointing to the damage. "We've found signs of what appears to be scoring and possibly foreign matter imbedded here, on the ilium and iliac crest, which might have been caused by the tip of a blade." His glance fell expectantly to Hodgins.

Ever loathe to disappoint, Hodgins spoke up, mordant wit in his voice, "Ohhh…beaten _and_ gut-stabbed before being shot in the head?" He tipped his head inquiringly, "Does this sound _familiar_ to anybody?"

Despite his joking words, anger flared in the depths of his blue eyes as his gaze was involuntarily drawn across the room to the crate that was still standing near the railing. As he glanced back to his companions, he found matching wrath in every set of eyes that met his as they all considered what Booth had probably endured as well as what fate he had just barely escaped.

Cam cleared her throat, trying to break the sudden tense silence. Brennan jumped slightly at the sound before visibly collecting herself and continuing with their results, "Barring any other findings to the contrary…I would say the cause of death was the gunshot wound. It appears that the entry wound was here…just behind the external acoustic meatus on the right side of the skull. And…judging by the amount of damage, I would say that it was caused by a fairly large caliber weapon."

"One of _my_ specimens was a .45 caliber bullet…a .45 ACP round to be precise," Hodgins broke in, drawing a nod of agreement from Brennan. "Incidentally, the choice of ammo coincides with what Bass told us about this group being pseudo-military."

Wendell nodded as he chimed in, "A lot of military and law enforcement like the Colt M1911's…"

"Ok." Nodding, Cam glanced around the table. "Everything you found confirms what I could get from the autopsy report. Their M.E. says that our subject had internal injuries consistent with being badly beaten and kicked or stomped. Numerous cuts and superficial stab wounds, as well as a fairly deep stab wound low on the abdomen…" she nodded an acknowledgment of Wendell and his most recent X-ray. She sighed and looked at her group with resignation.

Wendell gave her a long, pointed stare before voicing the thought that was on everyone's minds, "So, _basically_, we just found out everything that we already knew…someone beat this guy up, stabbed him, and then shot him in the head."

"Well…yes." Cam grimaced, unhappy and frustrated with the lack of progress.

"Great." Hodgins's drawled sarcasm made Cam grit her teeth as she turned to him with a glare.

"So…have _you_ found anything on the victim's clothing that might shed some light for us?" Cam's tight-lipped smile dared the entomologist to make another wisecrack.

Hodgins eyed her warily before carefully making, for him, the most prudent response, "I've gotten a few samples of fibers that look to be from car upholstery…I'm running them through the databases now."

He shrugged and added, "Also, I found some particulates on his clothing that I need to finish analyzing—a couple of species of grass and some other plant material and pollen that might help identify where he'd been. I was about ready to start on his shoes when you called us up here." Impatience was evident in both Hodgins's tone and in his expression as he looked at her expectantly.

Cam sighed. "Okay, keep working on it and let me know if you find something else," She nodded her understanding of his impatience, but stopped him before he could disappear off of the platform, "_But_ before you go, I wanted to run something past you. I found something odd..."

Hodgins's eyes lit up with keen interest. "Odd. I _like_ odd…" He stepped forward as Cam turned away to one of the computers.

"Why does that _not_ surprise me?" Cam muttered softly, but loud enough to be heard. Jack smirked in response even as he came up to stand next to her. Angela, Wendell, and Brennan moved around the lab table so that they could all see the monitor.

Cam explained as she waited for the computer to pull up the correct file. "The M.E.'s report mentioned this, and he had no explanation for it. I re-checked the tissue sample myself and verified his findings as best I could…" She sighed as she scowled and informed them, "The sample has been badly degraded…there's not much I could get from it."

The computer screen flashed with data, scrolling past quickly until Cam clicked the mouse. It stopped, and she pointed at an area on a displayed chest scan. "Our victim was suffering from pulmonary edema…"

"What…wait…that's fluid in the lungs, right?" Angela frowned in question and then gave a slight smile as Cam nodded acknowledgement.

Brennan peered inquisitively at the screen while Hodgins's eyebrows raised in question then drew down in a frown. "Heart attack?" He questioned the cause quietly.

"No." Cam shook her head. "According to the report, there was no indication of damage to the heart. There was, however, a great deal of inflammation of the lung tissue." Cam made a few rapid clicks of the mouse and a new screen popped up, displaying a colorful chart.

"This is what a tox screen from the lung tissue gave me. See, here and here…" She pointed to two areas of the screen where white spiked lines stood out from the rest.

"Yeah…" Hodgins leaned in closer, his brow furrowing in thought. Behind him, Brennan tipped her head, scanning the data and unconsciously mirrored his frown.

Wendell blinked in puzzlement and glanced at Angela who lifted a shoulder with a totally bewildered expression on her face. The both looked back as Hodgins leaned closer to the screen and grunted querulously. "Huh…"

"Nitrogen…hydrogen…" Hodgins mused aloud, his voice quietly speculative, "This looks almost like…." He raised an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder first at Brennan and then at Cam in bemused conjecture, "Possibly…NH3? The anomalies are making it hard to tell…but maybe…ammonia?

"Why…" Brennan met his gaze, thoughtfully asking, "Would he have ammonia in his lungs?"

Hodgins shrugged and made a face, not willing to speculate. A brief silence fell between them all, filled with traded glances of question and confusion. Then Angela contributed hesitantly, "I know…if you mix ammonia and bleach…it can make a poisonous gas…"

She smiled uncertainly at the other four as they all turned to pin her with steady stares. She lifted a hand dismissively, feeling foolish and almost ready to take her words back when Wendell tipped his head, considering her words.

"You're thinking…?" He lifted one eyebrow at her, encouraging her to continue.

Her voice was tentative and slightly nervous as she speculated, "Well…this guy maybe has information that our meth men want..." Her voice trailed off suggestively even as she shrugged again.

Wendell nodded slightly, toying with the idea. "They try to beat it out of him…"

Angela eyed him with expectation, "…and they don't get anywhere with the conventional means of torture…so…"

"So they use household cleaners to gas him?" Wendell frowned in reflection as he finished the idea for her. Cam and Brennan exchanged dubious looks as they considered the possibility.

Angela cringed slightly, feeling totally out of her depth. "Maybe…?"

"Could there have been residual ammonia left in the lungs if he had been exposed to a mixture of bleach and ammonia?" Angela sighed in relief as Cam's dark gaze switched from her to Hodgins, putting him on the spot instead.

"No," Hodgins flashed Angela an apologetic smile and a wink, softening his firm negation. Angela's face fell, but she shrugged and smiled back.

"There would be traces of chlorine…not ammonia." Hodgins fell into full lecture mode. "Household bleach has a chemical formula of NaOCl…one atom each of sodium, oxygen, and chlorine…" He darted a quick look at Angela with a smile, "Sodium hypochlorite in case you're interested."

Angela shot him a look that he had absolutely no chance of misinterpreting as interest, and Hodgins, taking note of the expression, grinned irrepressively. "Right."

He chuckled before re-launching his explanation, "Ok. Well, if you mix ammonia, which is NH3 by the way…" He winked at Angie, bringing a faint smile to her face. "One atom of nitrogen and three hydrogen…with sodium hypochlorite, it causes a reaction that liberates the chlorine gas from the bleach."

"So…" Hodgins shook his head, "It would be chlorine gas, not ammonia that he'd…" He broke off frowning. His eyes grew distant, his thoughts obviously elsewhere as the rest of the Jeffersonian team waited for him to continue.

Oblivious to them, Hodgins turned to stare at the computer screen, a low mutter breaking from him as he scowled at the data, "Ammonia…"

Cam waited for a long moment waiting for something else to follow that one-word utterance. When Hodgins continued to blink owlishly at the screen, lost to the other people in the room, she sighed and turned away. "Ok…well…while you're _thinking_ about it…" She caught Angela's smile at the exasperated comment and joined her in an eye-roll.

The strident ring of Brennan's cell phone made four of the five people jump. Brennan's hand dove into the pocket of her lab coat and pulled the phone out, flipping it open in one fluid move as she answered it, "Brennan. Yes. Yes, thank you for calling."

Eyes bright, she glanced around the lab table as she absently dropped the phone back into her pocket. "That was the hospital."

Her words brought her expectant glances from everyone, including Hodgins who turned away from the computer readout with a questioning glance. Angela watched, hiding her own smile as Brennan's expression softened into pleased expectation and she started unbuttoning her lab coat.

"Booth's awake." The words were abrupt, but filled with a quiet rush of happiness that even Brennan's habitual calm couldn't hide.

Even Cam couldn't resist smiling as she watched the normally reserved Dr. Temperance Brennan strip off her lab coat in record time. Her voice was warm and a bit amused as she quietly told Brennan, "Tell the big guy hi for us." She glanced around the room, "We'll come by and see him a little later."

"I will." Already on the move, Brennan snagged her purse from a nearby stool and dropped her lab coat in its place. Swift steps carried her towards the stairs. Halfway there, she spun on her heel and continued walking backwards as she remembered to ask, "Oh. I almost forgot…Hodgins, did you find anything useful on Booth's clothing?"

Jack watched her with a grin, but shook his head, "Sorry, Dr. B. I haven't gotten to it yet. I'll let you know if I find…"

"Yes. Fine." Brennan didn't wait for the full explanation. Instead, she spun back around just in time to avoid going down the stairs backwards and was halfway down the flight as her final words drifted back to them on an echo in the large room, "Thank you."

Four chuckles followed her departure as she sailed full-tilt out of the glass doors and disappeared down the hallway. Cam sighed, shaking her head at the three soppy smiles that were still watching where Brennan had disappeared.

"Alright." She injected a note of bossy camaraderie into her words, "Let's see if we can find anything else…"

"Right." Hodgins yanked his eyes from the entrance and turned to Angela and Wendell, "You two wanna give me a hand?"

"Sure." Wendell was quick to jump forward and join him.

Angela, on the other hand, eyed him warily. "You don't have anything icky and gross that you're gonna make me look at, do you?"

Hodgins's only answer was a wide smile and a '_who me' _lift of his eyebrows. With a sigh, Angela followed both men across the lab.


	26. Chapter 26

Brennan strode quickly down the long hallway towards Booth's room. As she neared the nurses' station, one of the two women who were seated there glanced up, but neither of them said a word to her as she moved briskly past them.

As she neared the door to Booth's room, she slowed as David Bass stepped out of the room with a harried and amused expression, a roll of what looked like clothing in his left hand. She frowned as she watched him drop his head, run his right hand through his hair, and then shake his head with a chuckle.

He caught sight of her as she drew close, and a welcoming smile eased the tired lines on his face, "Hey there, Bones." His voice was quiet, with an underlying note of teasing that reminded Brennan of her partner's tone during some of their first cases together.

"Don't call me Bones." Her exasperated grumble just widened his smile as she came to a stop in front of him.

"Gee…sorry, I keep forgetting," Bass's smirk was anything but apologetic. "But Booth gets to call you Bones," he griped with a twinkle in his eye and a whine in his tone.

Catching the humor in his gaze, Brennan answered simply, "Yes."

A small smile began to tease the corner of her mouth at his playfully crestfallen expression. "But I don't?"

Brennan pressed her lips together firmly to restrain her own smile at his affectation. She gave him a direct, guileless stare and answered flatly, "No." Her eyes flicked to the partially opened door behind Bass, unable to see anything because of the privacy drape. "Is he…"

"Yeah, he's awake." Bass sighed before raising his voice slightly and deliberately angling his head back towards the room to make sure his words would carry to the right person. "Crotchety and cantankerous as hell too, Bones." Bass smirked as a vehement oath emerged from behind the curtain.

"Booth?" Brennan started forward, ready to enter the room as she recognized her partner's voice.

She scowled darkly as Bass stepped in front of her, blocking her motion. Behind Bass, a nurse wearing a beleaguered expression on her face, stepped around the privacy drape, flashed a quick apologetic smile at Brennan, and then firmly shut the door in her face.

Brennan's eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed in determined outrage. Stepping around Bass, she reached for the door handle. Her glower transferred quickly to Bass as the young man blocked her way once again.

Dropping his hand onto Brennan's shoulder, Bass's touch stopped her forward movement. "Ahhh…" He smiled ingratiatingly at her, and then thought twice about the personal touch when her narrowed gaze fell to where his hand was resting.

Removing the offending hand, he sidled into place in front of her, making sure she couldn't reach the door latch. "I think it'd be better if we give them twenty minutes or so…" The amused twinkle in Bass's blue eyes was at odds with his solemn tone.

Brennan frowned at him in confusion, "Them?"

Bass nodded, stepping forward slightly, his motion forcing Brennan further away from the door, "Yeah. He's got Dr. Simmons and a nurse in there with him right now…" Greatly daring, Bass reached out again and turned Brennan around, giving her a nudge down the hall.

Frowning over his shoulder at him, she took a step, involuntarily letting him lead her away, "But…" Her brow furrowed, concern darkening her eyes.

Reading her expression accurately, Bass smiled down at her and reassured, "Don't worry, he's fine…"

"I don't think…" Brennan stopped moving, digging in her heels and frustration beginning to replace her confusion.

"Really…he's just fine…" Bass switched his hold on her, stepping to stand at her side and draping an arm across her shoulders.

He kept speaking as he started walking, pulling her along with him, "C'mon." He glanced down and decided Brennan's pointed gaze did not bode well for his continued health if he didn't explain himself. But then, he mused silently, knowing Booth, if he clarified too bluntly, his life expectancy would be even shorter.

With a sigh, he paused and met her eyes, raising his brows pointedly as he explained as obliquely as possible, "Right now they are currently doing to him all those horribly impersonal kinds of personal things that doctors and nurses do to their patients." Bass grimaced, his own memories of the indignities of hospital stays foremost in his mind.

"And Booth _strongly_ suggested I take a _long_ walk someplace…else." He watched understanding dawn in her eyes and he dropped his arm from around her back, fairly certain she would not be turning back to the door this time.

"C'mon. I'm starving. Let's hit the cafeteria. We'll get something to eat," He lifted the roll of clothing he still held, "I'll find someplace to clean up a bit, and by the time we get back ol' Seeley just _might_ be capable of being civil again." He started walking once more and was pleasantly surprised when Brennan joined him after a moment of hesitation.

* * *

"Captain? It's Keane." Keane spoke into his cell phone, raising his voice to be heard over the whine of a nearby plane as the small two-seater taxied past him, "Yeah, we're here. Sarge had me send Vargas and Powell on to the lab. Roberts is with me."

From the other end of the line, Jenkins's voice was full of satisfaction, "Good."

"Any word?" Keane was able to lower his voice as the small single-prop airplane put some distance between them.

"Not enough quite yet." A vicious satisfaction entered Jenkins's voice, "I know where he is, I know who's there with him, but I need to find out how much information he has before we take care of the little problem of his loyalty issues."

"Yes, sir." Keane kept his voice carefully neutral as he intoned, "Fidelitas vel nex."

"Exactly." The snick of disconnection ended the call but left the cold promise of the final word to linger ominously.


	27. Chapter 27

_Sorry for the delay. It's been a rough week at both jobs... _

_AND...Bones and Booth are being stubborn...(fallout from ep 100 maybe?) Let me know if I'm totally screwing up and they are OOC!_

* * *

Brennan cracked the door to Booth's room open, poking her head in to peer inside. The low murmur of a television caught her ear and she could just see the foot of Booth's bed, the privacy curtain having been pushed slightly aside.

The sound of the door opening alerted the occupant of the room, and Booth's voice, as it came from behind the curtain, was dark with the menacing threat of bodily violence, "_One_ word, Fish, I swear…just _one_ wiseass crack, and I'll brain you with a bedpan…"

Brennan blinked in bemusement and stepped into the room, pushing the door shut behind her with one hand as she balanced a small tray with her other hand. She stepped around the end of the curtain to be pierced by a grumpy, brown-eyed glower. "Booth?"

Her eyes darted around the room, searching in vain for Bass. She wondered how the younger man could have beaten her to Booth's room when he had said he was going to try to charm one of the nurses into letting him use an empty room to take a quick shower. Her eyes flashed back to Booth's face just as he realized who had entered his otherwise empty room.

"Bones!" His scowl morphed swiftly into a pleased, slightly lopsided grin.

Brennan returned his smile, her eyes swiftly cataloging the improvement in him from the night before as she moved to stand at his side. The bed was raised, two pillows stuffed behind his shoulders and head to support him. He looked tired and battered, but she was happy to note that he was alert and had more color in his face.

He tipped his head slightly as she moved closer, looking up at her with a questioning glint in his right eye. She noticed with concern that his left eye was still a mere slit, puffy and swollen under the contusion that had darkened all around it. An IV line still led from a bag of fluids to the crook of his arm and an oxygen monitor was still pinched onto one finger, but she was relieved to observe that the heart monitor had been disconnected.

Booth watched as Bones looked him over carefully, her blue eyes tracking from the bandaged cut at his scalp line, to the bruising on his face, down the expanse of his chest which he knew sported brilliantly-hued discolorations. His wide grin of welcome eased into a wry smile and he found himself twitching the blanket up a bit higher under her concentrated scrutiny, feeling just a little too much like a bug under Hodgins's microscope.

His move pulled the covers up over the bandage that covered the knife wound and he watched as she frowned at him. "That bad, huh?" he quipped, trying to break her focus on his wounds.

It worked. She dragged her gaze from cataloging the number of impressions left by fists and feet on Booth's torso and blinked at him in confusion, "What?"

He sighed in amused exasperation and complained, "You're looking at me like I'm in worse shape than some of the bodies we get in the Lab, Bones…"

"Oh," her eyes flew to meet his, her expression now one of chagrin, "I…no… I mean…"

Booth's eyebrow rose at her spluttering and his grin returned. He winced slightly as the smile pulled at his split lip and sore jaw. Predictably, Bones missed the gleam of humor in his eyes and noticed his wince.

"You're in pain?" Swiftly, Brennan set the tray she was carrying on the table next to the bed. "I'll get the nurse…" She was reaching for the call button even as she spoke.

"No!" Booth let go of the blanket and lunged for her hand before it reached its destination. "Aagh!"

He grimaced as the unwise move actually did cause him real pain. The shriek of abused muscles dragged a strangled grunt from him while his fingers closed a little tighter on her hand than he had intended. Wide-eyed, she froze and stared at him, her expression caught somewhere between perplexed surprise and disapproving concern.

"Sorry, Bones…" He apologized and eased his grip on her hand. "Please… I'm fine…" He gasped slightly, fighting down the renewed throbbing that was raging under the concealing bandage, "Fine… just please…" He let his brown eyes beg for him, "_Don't_ call them back in here…"

Bones frowned down at him, tipped her head a bit, trying to figure out why he would be so adamant. Meeting his earnest gaze, she finally nodded, her reluctance clear. "Okay..."

Booth sighed his relief, released her hand, and tried to ease his battered body back down onto the bed without causing himself more discomfort. Conversationally, he did his best to change the subject.

"So, how you doin', Bones?" He was proud of how well he controlled his voice, not letting any of the pain he was feeling show as he smiled reassuringly up at his partner.

Brennan narrowed her eyes at him, hearing the tense note in Booth's voice that he only used when he was trying to hide injury. Knowing from past experience that he would whine and complain about a minor scratch but bleed out without a word of discomfort, she scanned his face more carefully, trying to decide how badly he was really hurting.

"What?" The word was defensive, Booth's good eye going wide in challenge as he watched Bones stare down at him appraisingly.

"I am fairly certain, Booth," Both her tone and her expression were rueful as Bones decided to let him get away with his pretense this time, "That _I_ am supposed to be the one asking _you_ that question in this situation."

"Oh…well…yeah." He took note of the sad concern on her face that was at odds with the light tone she had attempted to use and he relented, letting the mask drop. "I'm fine, Bones. Really. Just tired, and…" He smiled reassuringly at her, "A little sore…" He watched as she raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him and confessed with a wry smile, "Okay…a _lot_ sore."

He grinned when his words finally drew a faint ghost of the smile he had been seeking from her. Her eyes met his and his grin faded slowly as he watched the play of emotions that crossed her features.

"I…we…were worried…" Her words were quiet, but Booth picked up on the strain in her voice as her gaze dropped, apparently to minutely examine the cast that encased his right arm from just below his elbow to his fingers.

He felt his heart lurch at the lost hollowness that she had unconsciously allowed to slip into her voice. Mentally, Booth cursed the fact that a hug was entirely beyond his pain threshold at the moment, and reached for her hand where it had clenched into the sheet next to him instead. He gave it a squeeze, trying to make up for the lack of a full hug with the gesture and, speaking quietly, tried to apologize for the scare he had given her and her squints the day before. "I'm sorry, Bones."

She raised her eyes to meet his steady gaze. A long moment passed with their eyes locked, questions asked and answered, fears raised and put to rest, all in a long silent stare. Booth watched as the small crease of worry and concern eased from her forehead and her eyes lost the forlorn look that she had been trying to hide by scrutinizing his cast.

He felt a tender smile start to curl his lips and decided to lighten the moment. His eyes fell to the tray she had deposited on the wheeled table next to the bed and he focused on her gift. "Hey…whatcha got there, Bones?" He made a production of eyeing the offering before grinning up at her, "Pudding cups?"

Brennan glanced from her partner's smile to the desserts in question. Her lips quirked slightly as she shook her head at his enthusiasm. "Yes, I remembered that you had an unreasonable fondness for them…"

"Way to go, Bones," Booth crowed in glee, almost as much to see her shoot him a repressive stare as in true happiness to have something palatable to eat. He grimaced at a twinge from his ribs as he reached for, and couldn't quite manage to get, a grip on the small rollaway table. "Um…you wanna hand me one there, Bones?" He sighed in frustration.

Brennan picked up one of the desserts and the spoon that rested on the tray between them. She peeled back the top and then hesitated before handing it to Booth, her brow furrowing, "I didn't check with the doctor, I'm not sure you're supposed to…"

"Pudding cures all ills, Bones." Booth snagged the dessert before she could change her mind and take it away from him. "Besides…what _they_ don't know won't hurt me…" He frowned, glancing between the pudding in his left hand, the spoon she still held, and the ungainly shell of plaster on his right arm, ignoring the amused quirk that had started to form on her lips.

Shaking her head, she objected to the logic of his statement, "Booth, that doesn't make any sense."

Brennan watched him with a growing smile as he considered the logistical conundrum of having only one functional hand. She observed as he gingerly transferred the plastic container to balance on his stomach, held loosely by the fingers that were barely exposed by the cast.

Having secured the cup to his satisfaction, he plucked the spoon from her hand and dug into the treat with a triumphant smile, "It's not supposed to, Bones." He grinned up at her smugly before transferring a spoonful of the pudding to his mouth. "Hmmmm…"

She smiled down at him, sharing his enjoyment of the treat. After a moment, and a few more spoonfuls of pudding, he smiled up at her, all teasing gone. "Thanks, Bones." His glance fell to the edge of the curtain behind her, his voice growing serious as he asked, "Where's Bass?"

"He should be here in a few minutes." Brennan accepted his switch to business with the ease of long practice. "He said he wanted to clean up."

"Good." He frowned in thought and absently swallowed another bite of pudding. "Are Tyler and Cullen here?"

Brennan pulled up one of the chairs and sat next to him as she shook her head and answered, "No. He said that he'd call them after he got chance to talk to you first." She leaned forward, her eyes firmly fixed on his face.

"What's going on, Booth?" Her voice, like his, had edged into gravity and he watched as she focused her complete attention on him, obviously expecting a full disclosure.


	28. Chapter 28

_Crossing fingers that I'm not too OOC!_

_PDSLDL: Thank you for the constructive criticism...after re-reading, I realized you were right! I hope I've alleviated the problem with this chapter! :-)_

_In answer to a question: Bass's ID/Badge #: 51669 -- think somebody's birthdate... :-D It beat using a random number, I thought..._

* * *

Booth finished the last bit of the pudding and toyed with the spoon, his eyes watching the overhead light play over the plastic. "David said he filled you in on some of it?" He avoided her question for a moment, trying to sort out the still-fuzzy memories of the past few days and the tension-filled weeks that had preceded them.

"Yes." Brennan impatiently reached out to take the spoon and the empty pudding cup away from him. Her motions were edgy and tense, and Booth blinked in surprise at her. Then he frowned, studying her face carefully.

Brennan took careful pains to remain calmly matter-of-fact as she set the two items on the table and continued speaking, "He told us that you'd gone undercover…"

Booth watched as Bones's familiar mask of compartmentalization faltered along with her voice, letting him catch a fleeting glimpse of raw feeling on his partner's face. The flare of emotion and the definite tightness to her tone caught his full attention and triggered the memory of a certain staged funeral.

He flinched inwardly, having finally recognized the mingled hurt, resentment and anger that she was carefully suppressing. Belatedly realizing what his unthinking actions and unexpected three-week silence must have been like for her, he found a pained knot of anguish springing to life in his own gut at the thought of having hurt her again.

"Damn." He sighed, mentally kicking himself. Her unexpected reserve unnerved him—his already sore jaw giving a twinge at the memory of her less-inhibited response to his last transgression.

"Bones?" Warily, expecting the explosion at any time, he tried to bring her eyes up to his with his voice alone. His dismay deepened as she avoided his gaze at first. "Hey," He dropped to a lower octave as he tried again, cursing the fact that she was too far away from him to try to tip her chin up with his hand. "Bones…"

His persistence was rewarded with a brief flick of her blue eyes. For a troubled moment, he wondered if his negligence this time had done irreparable harm as she kept her anger walled away from him.

Then, as he watched, she dropped her gaze again, drew in a deep breath, and then lifted her head to glare at him. Even as he winced under the cobalt glower that scorched him, Booth felt a surge of relief and an odd happiness as her reaction reassured him that she still trusted him enough to let him see her true feelings.

As he watched his partner angle her jaw at him in annoyance, Booth quickly tried to squash the crazy surge of attraction he always felt for the little mannerism. He was careful not to let either his relief or his bemusement show as she scowled fiercely at him, her voice carrying the hint of a growl, "You should have told me."

Knowing that there was no FBI secret agenda or a meddlesome Dr. Sweets to blame this time, Booth was quick to apologize. Nodding agreement, he sighed. "I know. I'm sorry." His brow furrowed in regret as he tried to explain, "I'd planned on calling…it just went down so quick…" His voice trailed off and he sighed again, knowing the excuse was lame.

He watched as Bones drew in a deep breath, "I…understand." She nodded firmly, and he got the impression that she was doing her best to convince herself, not him. He frowned at her, not quite trusting his ears or her words.

She quickly asked her next question without giving him time to respond, obviously not wanting to delve any deeper into the issue, "Did you get the information they needed?"

"Yeah." His eyes scanned her face carefully, not sure if he wanted to allow her to avoid the subject. He nodded finally, deciding that it would be better to continue talking business for now, "Yeah, I did."

He shifted in the bed, trying to ease the growing ache that had set up residence across his ribs. "I think I managed to get enough information to put the whole operation behind bars for a long time."

His tight smile was triumphant but sad as he explained, "The tech from the New York office…Kinsey…somehow he'd hacked into their computer. He found information on stuff like processing locations, shipments, delivery data, accounting information. He flagged the files, and I when I got a chance to get into their office, I managed to access them…"

Booth shifted again on the bed, grimacing at a stab of pain. He saw her curious gaze sharpen into concern again and he shook his head, deflecting her before she could say anything about his health.

She sighed and then acceded to his wishes, keeping the conversation on the case. "What did you find out?"

He met her questioning look and gave her a rueful smile as he had to admit, "I didn't have time to read it for myself. I just skimmed the surface…but there's a lot of stuff there. I managed to get it all dumped onto a card..."

Booth abruptly stopped speaking, frowning for a long second before his eyes flew to hers, a nebulous memory of being stripped down in the emergency room suddenly jolting through him. "Bones! My socks!" His eyes pinned her with urgency, "You still have them?"

Brennan frowned at his outburst, chiding him gently with her gaze as she calmly reassured him, "Of course I do."

"Good." Booth sighed in relief, sagging back against the pillows as his eyes impatiently scanned the room. "Where are they?"

Brennan tipped her head to stare at him, wondering, not for the first time, at his concern for the seemingly innocuous footwear. "They're at the lab…" Eyeing him curiously, she added, "With the rest of the clothes you were wearing."

His eyes flew to hers and he lifted a brow curiously even as he relaxed slightly, "The lab?"

"Yes." Nodding, Brennan explained, "Agent Bass explained some of what you were doing in New York and Cam suggested that perhaps we could help. He agreed, and he had all the forensic information sent from New York."

Brennan kept her tone factual as she watched Booth's eyes widen in surprise. "We've been going through it for him since early this morning. Cam thought we might find something that could lead him to the location where Kinsey was murdered."

"Any luck?" Distracted from his initial concern by the news, Booth's question was hopeful.

"Not yet," Brennan sighed, her own disappointment at the lack of leading evidence showing in her voice. She shrugged. "We haven't found anything yet that the forensics team in New York hadn't already documented."

She met his eyes squarely as she confessed, "Hodgins hasn't had a chance to run all of his tests yet though, and I told him to go through your clothes as well." She gave Booth an arch stare, "In case there might be something…" Her voice trailed off, inviting him to explain his concern over his socks.

Booth grinned at her, nodding his approval of the squints joining the case. His smile grew broader and he gloated a bit, "Oh, there's something all right…"

He chuckled at her impatient chuff and finally confessed, "Jenkins's goons caught up with me just after I got the information copied. I had just enough time to hide it in my sock before they grabbed me."

"Your…sock?" Disbelieving, Brennan stared at him for a long moment, and then shook her head, doubting him. "Booth, the nurse and I both handled your socks and we didn't find anything in them…"

"That's because I used one of those card things…" Booth glossed over the technical term, knowing Bones would supply it. "You know…like you use in a digital camera…" He grinned at her, proud of his spur-of-the-moment ingenuity.

"A data card?" Brennan blinked at him in surprise.

"Yeah…one of the itty-bitty, tiny ones…" Booth lifted his hand and roughly indicated the card's size between his thumb and index finger for her. He shot the IV line a beleaguered glare as its needle twinged a warning at the movement.

"I knew I'd been ratted out, and that they'd be coming for me." His gaze turned inward and his voice sobered as he remembered the events of that night. "There was only a slim chance of me getting outta there without them catching me..."

He sighed, "And, I knew that they'd end up searching me before they… Um…" He hesitated, trying to substitute a better word for the actual process he'd been subjected to. He settled on the most innocuous one that he could think of, "Questioned…me."

He realized that the euphemism hadn't worked when Bones gave him a censorious stare and her eyes fell again to the evidence of '_questioning_' that mottled his torso. He shrugged when her eyes lifted back to his own and continued, "So, I hid it where I thought they'd miss looking…inside my sock."

He frowned in sudden worry, "Hodgins didn't find it?" Booth tensed, winced and groaned inwardly in frustration at his body's betrayal.

"He hadn't looked at your stuff yet." Brennan watched him closely, not missing his faint grimace of pain, and soothed, "I'm sure it won't be long before he finds it."

"Oh." Booth sighed, closing his eyes briefly. Though loathe to admit it, he was beginning to feel the pain of his abused body and a dull ache had set up residence behind his eyes once again.

"Booth…" Brennan frowned at him as he sagged back into the bed, correctly reading his expression. "At least let the nurse bring you something…" She scowled as her words brought him fully upright again.

Shaking his head, Booth forced himself past the aches and sighed, "No. No more drugs." He grimaced in distaste, "I hate being so…fuzzy."

"But," she protested, "You're in pain…you should…"

"No. I told'em…no more drugs. I mean it." His voice was sharper than he intended and Booth sighed when she gave him an annoyed frown.

"C'mon, Bones," He tried a smile, and realized that it was probably a pretty pathetic attempt when she continued to eye him skeptically, "I gotta be clear-headed when Tyler and Cullen come up to grill me…"

To distract her, he asked, "Hey, d'you think Hodgins could bring that card here? I'd like to give it to Cullen."

Still eyeing him disapprovingly, Bones relented and allowed him the diversion, "I'll call him…" Brennan reached into her jacket pocket, and then frowned in dismay when she found nothing there.

Catching her expression, Booth raised an eyebrow, "What?"

She sighed in exasperation, "I left my cell phone at the lab…" Her tone was rueful as she remembered how quickly she had stripped out of her lab coat and left the Jeffersonian.

"Oh." Booth had to smile at her disgruntled expression. "Try that one." He pointed to the room phone which rested on a stand near the window. Taking his advice, Brennan stood and walked around his bed to dial the phone.

Booth let his head fall back onto the pillows, closing his eyes and focusing on the sounds of the television and the small sounds she made as she waited for someone to pick up. Exhaustion and pain rolled like a wave over him and he sighed, ruefully admitting to himself as his stomach gave an unsettled churn, that perhaps the pudding cup had been a bad idea.

He heard her sigh and the rattle of the hand piece in the cradle as she turned back to the bed, "Nobody's answering."

With an effort, he opened his eyes to find her frowning down at him in renewed concern. Quietly, knowing by her expression what she was thinking, he answered her unspoken query, "I'm okay, Bones. Just tired."

"I should go…let you rest." He could hear the lack of enthusiasm for the idea in her voice.

"No…I'm fine…" Booth protested, finding himself equally unwilling to have her leave. He shook off the creeping lethargy and smiled up at her before flicking a quick glance at the telephone and asking, "No answer?"

Her worry increased as he asked a question that she had already answered. "No…" She watched him frown in disquiet and quickly spoke to alleviate it, "They've been working on the evidence since early this morning. Logically, they've probably gone to lunch." She made a move towards the phone again, "I can call Cam or Hodgins on their cell phones..."

He stopped her, "No, wait…" She turned to find him giving her a faint smile and a shrug. "Hey, it can wait for an hour or so…"

"Are you sure?" She eyed him uncertainly.

"Yeah," Booth nodded, blinking a bit owlishly at her.

"Booth…" She watched him fight his body's need for rest, and quietly offered, "How about I go back to the Jeffersonian. I'll get the card, and bring it back here for you." She smiled at him and gently suggested, "You can rest until then, and you'll be more alert when Tyler and Cullen arrive."

Booth sighed, reluctant to admit that her idea had more merit than she probably knew. As he lifted his gaze to meet her steady blue stare, he registered the glint of tolerant understanding in her eyes and was forced to admit to himself that she most definitely knew just how exhausted he was feeling at the moment.

Disconcerted by her atypical empathy and by his own frustrating weakness, he found himself scowling at her in grumpy exasperation, "Do you _always_ have to be so rational, Bones?"

He watched her eyebrows climb in surprise at his grousing and winced inwardly as he realized how much he'd just sounded like a petulant Parker. He opened his mouth again, ready to apologize, but was stopped when a chuckle broke from her.

"Hodgins was right." He blinked in bemusement when she tipped her head to eye him critically even as she smiled down at him.

"Huh?"

His highly intelligent response went unnoticed as Bones continued, "He _said_ you would be grumpy." A crease appeared between her eyes; the one Booth recognized and privately called her '_I just don't get it_' look.

"Though I don't understand why he would use a comparison between you and a member of the genus _Ursus_ to signify your probable disposition today."

For a brief moment, Booth swore she'd done it with the express purpose to jolt him out of his cranky mood. His befuddled mind had to run her words through twice to translate the Latin and make the connection, but when he did, he snorted a reluctant laugh that was aimed at his own grouchiness.

He eyed her suspiciously as he chuckled, noting that the twinkle of mirth in her eyes and the quirk of her lips took longer than normal to fade into her trademark puzzled look of incomprehension.


	29. Chapter 29

_Short one this time...sorry!_

* * *

Bass rounded the corner and entered the hallway leading past the nurses' station, his step jaunty as he flashed the two women behind the desk a quick smile. His eyes fell on the figure standing just outside the open door to Booth's room.

"Amelia…hey!" His voice carried down the hallway and earned him censorious glowers from the nurses. His jovial greeting brought the young FBI intern's head up and she turned to watch him walk down the hall towards her.

As she turned, her movement revealed that she had a cell phone pressed to her ear. She raised a quieting hand to Bass as he approached while she spoke into the phone. "Okay. Yes, sir. There may be chance… Yes, I will. Thank you, sir." She pulled the phone away from her ear and pressed the end button, raising her eyes to meet Bass's.

"Taylor?" Bass asked with a sigh as he came to a stop near her.

"Yeah." She hesitated and then continued, "He wants me to go over to the Hoover and pick him up." She lifted questioning green eyes to meet Bass's resigned gaze, "Do you want a lift over there?"

"No…no… Booth's awake." He gestured towards the room even as he heard the sound of voices inside. He smiled, hearing a peevish question from Booth and Brennan's semi-accurate reference to Hodgins's comment from the previous night.

Amelia smiled up at him, "Oh, that's great."

"Yeah," Distracted, Bass gave her a quick glance, "I want a chance to talk with him before Tyler comes in all hot and bothered." He sighed and then shrugged, expecting her to guess all that he wasn't willing to say aloud.

"I understand…" She smiled wryly at him before glancing down at her watch, "I'd better get going."

"Ok. I'm sure we'll be seeing you soon." She chuckled at the exaggerated eye roll he gave her.

"No doubt." With that wry response, Amelia lifted her hand in a brief farewell wave and started down the hall.

David watched her go for a moment before turning and shoving the door to Booth's room open, breaking into the two partners' conversation with a boisterous greeting, "Hey! Seel-man, are they all done torturing you yet?"

The two nurses at the station traded annoyed glances and sighs of relief as the young FBI agent shoved the door shut behind him. As she passed the desk on her way to the elevator, Amelia gave them a commiserating smile and a brief nod.

* * *

"Oh, he-ey!" Hodgins eyed the object in front of him with mingled amusement and triumph. "Look what I found…"

"What?" Angela spun around on her stool, happy to be distracted from the minute examination she had been making of Booth's torn and bloody T-shirt. Behind her, Wendell turned as well, taking his gaze off of the magnifying glass he'd been using to try to find any odd matter on the FBI agent's shredded jeans.

Having surmised that the best objects on which to find particulate matter would be Booth's shoes, Hodgins had laid claim to both sneakers and, by default, the rolled up pair of bright colored socks that Booth had been wearing.

Wendell frowned at the small object that Hodgins was holding up in triumph between the pinched ends of a pair of forceps. "Duct tape?" His voice and raised eyebrow indicated that the younger man was highly unimpressed by the small square of sticky material.

"Not just duct tape," With a flare for the dramatic, and a wide grin, Hodgins turned the piece around so the sticky side was displayed. Adhered to the tape, a tiny square of white paper was encircled by green, turquoise and black fuzz from the socks.

Flashing them both a grin as they deserted their posts and moved closer, Hodgins set the forceps down on the table, and gently peeled the square of paper from the tape. He felt the object hidden within the paper and carefully unfolded the small scrap. He blinked in surprise as a tiny data card fell out into his gloved palm.

"Oh!" Angela's eyes widened in swift recognition, "A micro SD card!"

"I didn't know they made them that small…" Wendell stared down at the tiny object, not much bigger than a dime as it lay in Hodgins's palm.

"Yeah. I couldn't even tell it was in there until I turned the sock inside out." Hodgins eyed the card for a moment, and then raised his gaze to Angela's, "Please, tell me you can use this?" His blue eyes gleamed with curiosity and his lips quirked in anticipation.

Angela tipped her head to give him an arch look. "Excuse me…" she quipped, "Computer whiz here…" She jabbed a thumb at herself and rolled her eyes, "Of _course_ I can. I even have an adapter in my office." She reached out and unceremoniously plucked the card from his hand before turning on her heel and striding away, her own curiosity eating at her.

Hodgins grinned after her retreating form and hastily stripped off his latex gloves, tossing them on a nearby table as he took off after her. Wendell was only a half a heartbeat behind him, excitement and anticipation in his movement as he followed.


	30. Chapter 30

_Hi,_

_Sorry about the delay in updating. I had to wait until Bones, Booth, and Bass returned from Bali, Bosnia, Bermuda, Borneo, Bahama, Barbados, and Brazil.... The decided to go on an impromptu vacation...__(In other words...majorly raging case of writer's block...) Hopefully, they've gotten it out of their systems and I'll be able to make them play nice from now on..._

_Thanks for all the great reviews!!! -- SF_

* * *

Two sets of eyes focused with annoyance on Bass as his voice preceded him into Booth's room. He feigned ducking for cover back behind the privacy curtain as he came around it to meet the twin glowers that had been turned on him. His wide grin ruined the terrified expression he was trying to adopt.

Booth quirked his eyebrow at the younger man, daring him to continue the line of questioning he'd started with his irreverent query on his way into the room. Bass smirked at him, glad to see the amused irritation on the older man's face. He hid a sympathetic wince at the still swollen eye and the other bruises that marked the other agent.

"Hey, Sarge," Bass moved to stand next to the bed as he asked with genuine concern, "How you feelin'?"

"Better." Booth summed up succinctly and a smile tipped one side of his mouth as he answered honestly.

"Yeah?" David's voice and face both lost the mischievous note and he scanned his friend's face with an assessing eye. He frowned.

"Well, you _look_ like shit, Seel." His blunt opinion was greeted with a glower from Brennan and a sigh of resigned annoyance from his temporary partner.

"Thanks, kid" Booth's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Hmmm… you're welcome." Bass shoved the chair Brennan had left next to the bed with his foot, angling it to face his glowering partner. Dropping into it, he slouched a bit, lifted a leg to plant a foot on the bed railing, and folded his hands across his flat middle.

Fixing Booth with a somber stare that was at odds with his laconic posture, David asked quietly, "So, what went down, Sarge?"

Booth sighed and reached for the controls for the bed, punching the button to raise the head even further until it reached its limit of vertical motion. From the corner of his eye, he could see Bones giving him a reprimanding frown. He flicked a quick glance at her, just enough to give her a reassuring flash of a smile, before he turned his head to meet Bass's steady gaze.

Quietly, expecting the door to push open any minute, Booth asked, "Cullen and Taylor on their way here?"

David surprised him by shaking his head. "Not yet." The younger man shot him a half-smile and raised his brows slightly. "I wanted to make sure you were up to dealing with them before…" He let the words trail off into a shrug.

"Thanks." Though he didn't want to admit it, Booth knew he was already tiring. He sighed, also knowing that he would push himself to get both Cullen and Tyler online with the entire mission report before giving in to his body's demand for rest.

"So, obviously, the cover worked…" David interrupted his frustrated musings.

"Like a charm." Booth focused on the younger man, glad for the distraction and the place to begin. "For Jenkins, having a sniper with a dishonorable discharge wanting to join his squad was a wet…" Booth broke off, realizing that he was falling back into the rough manner of speech that had been habit in the military. He darted a glance at Bones, feeling the tips of his ears heat up, and edited what he had been going to say. "Yeah, it worked."

Bass smothered a smirk, shaking his head at the two of them as Brennan blinked and shot Booth a puzzled frown, obviously not understanding the change of phrase. His voice didn't show his amusement as he asked quietly, "So…the information we had on Jenkins…is it accurate?"

"Yeah…" Booth's brows drew down into a thoughtful frown, "Pretty much." His voice was reserved, a troubled note darkening his tone.

Bass picked up on it easily. He eyed the older man for a long moment, watching the play of expressions that chased across his face. Obviously something about their quarry had set Booth's inner alarms jangling. "Seel?"

The quiet question drew Booth out of his reflections. Face serious, he caught and held Bass's gaze. "He's a real nut-job, Dave." The steady stare he leveled on the younger man lent a deeper meaning to his words.

Bass scowled, pulling in a deep breath before he asked quietly, hoping that the answer would be in the affirmative, "He using his own stuff?"

"No." Booth's voice was flat and his expression grew grim as he dashed Bass's hope that the man they were after was just a run-of-the-mill drug dealer.

Bass sagged into his seat, trusting the more seasoned agent's gut instincts and greater experience. "Shit." Dismay and anger fought for dominance in his tone.

"Yeah." Booth shifted on the bed, a restless urge to pace warring with his injuries. He winced as he felt his abused torso give a wrenching protest at his movement.

Bass ran his hand through his hair and then stood in a quick surge. He paced four steps towards the door, turned and retraced the same path. Booth watched with some envy as the younger man did the pacing he was unable to do.

He glanced up, not surprised to find Bones dividing her attention between Bass's agitated motion and looking down at him inquiringly. With a faint smile, Booth translated the verbal shorthand that had set the young FBI agent into motion.

"Jenkins is a real fanatic, Bones. If he was just your average dealer using his own product, he'd be dangerous." He flicked a glance up to include Bass, who had paused to listen. "But this guy's all business, which makes him worse. He's got a small group of men who are highly loyal to him and..."

Bass interrupted him with a quick question, "How loyal?"

The brown of Booth's eyes darkened as he held Bass's gaze steadily, "Think Jim Jones…Koresh… _That_ kind of loyal." He watched as Bass's face tightened, feeling the same tense edginess harden his own features as he continued, "Just without the holy roller twist…"

"Shit." The word was exhaled in a huff as Bass sank back down into the chair he had deserted earlier. The younger man rolled his head, trying to loosen the tight muscles of his neck and shoulders. "Damn."

Booth watched as David's eyes grew distant as he stared unseeingly at the quiet heart monitor near the head of the bed. After a moment to digest the information, David turned back and Booth watched as a flare of anger lit the blue eyes that suddenly locked on his.

"So, any idea who our little birdie is?" The change of subject didn't surprise Booth in the least.

He frowned darkly. He was just as unhappy as his temporary partner over the betrayal that had put him at the less-than-tender mercies of Jenkins's men. "No. I didn't get a chance to dig any deeper. I found out they were on to me just before I called you on…" Booth hesitated, trying to put the past weeks in perspective, "Thursday?" Booth shook his head as he shot the younger man a rueful scowl, "It gets a bit blurry after that…"

"I bet." Bass's response was quiet, his eyes filled with apology and guilt. "They worked you over pretty good." Anger joined the other two emotions.

"Hmmm…they weren't too happy with me." Booth grunted the understatement, refusing to acknowledge the other man's unnecessary remorse for the situation. He flashed the younger man a fierce grin to distract him. "I got some of my own back though…"

"P.O.W. training-type payback?" Bass asked, matching the feral grin and raising his brows inquiringly even though he was already pretty sure he knew the answer to the question.

Booth nodded.

"Poor bastards." The chuckle was unadulterated satisfaction that belied the apparent sympathy of the words as Bass recalled their military training and Booth's uncanny ability to do damage even while restrained. He changed the subject again, his amusement fading into serious inquiry, "You said you got the information we needed…"

"Yeah," Booth acknowledged, "I managed to copy everything to a memory card before they caught me."

"So…what'd you get?" Glad that they finally had a chance at putting the group of drug dealers behind bars, Bass waited impatiently for Booth to give him the details.

Satisfaction was thick in the older man's voice as he succinctly summed up, "Enough to bury him." A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as Booth waited, knowing from experience that his pithy response would irk the younger agent.

Frustrated by Booth's deliberate reserve, Bass leaned forward and scowled. His eyes caught the flash of expectant humor and mockery in the other man's eyes and he shook his head in disgust at the teasing. Instead of letting his irritation show any further, Bass leaned back in his chair and drawled thickly, "Excellent, dude…"

Booth cringed at the impersonation, giving a grumble of disgust, "Oh, God, Fish…you _still_ do a shitty Keanu Reeves…" He chuckled and shook his head, knowing he'd been one-upped.

Bass grinned, unrepentant and glad to have won their long-standing battle. "So, where's the card now?"

Booth flicked a quick conspiratorial smile at Brennan. "Bones tells me that our Squint Squad probably has it."

"Not probably, Booth." Having watched the by-play between the two men with the fascinated detachment that had served her well in many third world countries, Brennan carefully corrected her partner. "I gave your clothes to Hodgins. I am sure he has it."

Booth grinned, chuckling happily at being able to tweak both of his partners within the same conversation. Not entirely sure why Booth was laughing, Brennan nonetheless returned his smile, relieved to see him in good spirits despite his injuries.

"Squint squad…huh?" Bass laughed at the appellation, glancing between the two partners with a perceptive grin before turning an appraising eye on Booth.

"So…you up to bringing Cullen and Tyler in now for an informal debrief?" His eyes narrowed slightly, taking in the lines of strain that even the teasing hadn't managed to erase from the other agent's face.

"Yeah," Booth shot him a stare designed to deter the young man from any further coddling. "The sooner we can get them in on this, the sooner we can figure out who we've got on the inside screwing us over."

"Okay." Bass rose, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket as he started towards the door. "I'll just leave you two lovebirds alone for a bit while I give them a call." A smirk, thrown back over his shoulder at them as he rounded the privacy curtain, accompanied the jab that he couldn't resist.

"Bass…" Booth growled the name and, counting it as a victory, Bass slipped out the door, a roguish grin on his face.

"Why do people always assume…" Booth angled a glance up at Brennan as she gave the closed door a perplexed frown.

"Ignore him, Bones. He's an ass." Booth tipped his head back with a sigh, closing his eyes.

Brennan turned her frown down on him for a moment before she walked around the end of the bed. She pulled the rollaway table closer; making sure it was within easy reach if Booth would happen to want the last pudding cup she had left on its surface.

Booth cracked an eye open, watched her for a moment, and then, assuming she would be dropping into Bass's deserted chair, he closed his eye again and sighed as deeply as his sore ribs would let him. He jumped, and his eyes opened in surprise as the bed suddenly moved underneath him. "Hey!"

Brennan finished lowering the head of the bed to a more reclining position as Booth turned a questioning glance on her. "Bones?" He watched as she picked up her purse and the blazer jacket that she'd been wearing earlier.

She turned back to him, her eyes direct and serious. "I'm going to go back to the Jeffersonian and get the data card. I'll bring it back here for you to give to Cullen. You should rest while you have the opportunity." Her voice was firm and decisive.

Booth wanted to argue, but the creeping lethargy that he had refused to let show while Bass was in the room was beginning to wear at him. With a lopsided smile he met his partner's knowing expression and admitted, "Yeah…you're probably right."

A smile curved Brennan's lips and she tipped her head slightly. "Of course, I'm right, Booth." There was a glint of amusement in the depths of her blue eyes as she watched her partner scowl at her matter-of-fact statement.

Booth mumbled something indistinct under his breath, narrowing his eyes at her in mock threat.

Brennan tipped her head to view the twinkle in his eyes that belied his grumbling, shook her head and offered, "Do you want me to bring you anything?"

"A beer?" Booth tried to sound innocent and hopeful as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back into the pillows.

"Booth," Predictably, she started to chastise him, her tone taking on the lecturing note that was so familiar to him. "I don't think…" Her voice trailed off when Booth cracked open his good eye and smirked a '_gotcha_' smile up at her.

She huffed in exasperation, belatedly recognizing his amusement at her expense. Shaking her head at his teasing, she offered him the blindingly brilliant smile that he had been angling for and then turned to leave.

Booth watched her and, when he was sure she wasn't going to turn back around again, he let his teasing mask slip. The amused affection altered, transforming into something stronger and deeper, the emotion darkening his eyes When the door closed behind her, he let his head fall back onto the pillows, groaned into the empty silence as the pain that he'd been trying to ignore clamored for attention, and let his eyes fall shut.


	31. Chapter 31

The dim light of a laptop chased across the features of the dark-haired man that was staring at its screen, reading the information displayed with intense concentration. Next to the computer, within easy reach of his left hand, a cell phone suddenly shrilled in the darkened room.

Without taking his eyes of the screen, the man picked up the cell, flipped it open, and put it to his ear as he answered with brusque self-identification, "Jenkins."

Jenkins's right hand, still idly using the laptop's touchpad as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line, suddenly froze. His hazel eyes narrowed and a tight-lipped grin spread across his saturnine features as he commented, "Well, it's not the most optimum situation..."

He leaned back in his chair with easy grace, his gaze focused on something beyond the display of his laptop. "But, where it's at now, that data card is currently out of our reach."

Jenkins pursed his lips thoughtfully and tipped his head back, transferring his gaze to the light fixture on the ceiling. The fingers of his right hand tapped an idle beat against the surface of the desk as he paused in thought for a moment. A respectful silence from the other end of the phone left him to his musings.

When he spoke again, it was with deliberate consideration, "However, I think, with the right leverage, we might be able to convince the FBI to make a deal with us." He nodded at his own conclusion, straightening in the chair as his hand fisted on the desktop,

"I want that card back." His eyes narrowed, a smoldering anger flaring to life in them. His voice grew low and menacing as he continued, "But, I also would like to have another…chat…with our renegade sniper." A feral excuse for a smile, more a baring of teeth than real amusement, crossed his face. "He's needs to fulfill his…obligation…to our unit."

A frown creased his brow as the person listening to him spoke again. The frown eased into a speculative glee that twisted one corner of his smile up into something resembling enjoyment, "Oh? Really?" He leaned back again as he continued to listen.

After a moment, Jenkins chuckled, his amusement laced with triumph. "That's even better. It might be the best opportunity we'll have." He drew in a deep breath and nodded decisively. "Do it."

He listened to the affirmative reply from the other person before giving his response with casual arrogance, "Fidelitas vel nex." The cell phone snapped shut, the sound loud in the quiet room. Jenkins's eyes scanned the screen of the computer in front of him again, lingering on the mug-shot style photo in the upper right-hand corner.

The FBI dossier had been scanned with haste, the stamped '_Confidential_' a murky pinkish-red that angled across the report. The stamp crossed the bottom part of the photo and was followed by an array of information that Jenkins had been reading with careful deliberation before the interruption.

"Loyalty or death." His voice was a growl as he repeated the motto, translating the Latin phrase to the uncaring emptiness of the room. He reached out to tap the keyboard, and the picture rapidly enlarged, taking up the full screen. The brown eyes in the photo peered back at him with a cool confidence that he longed to shatter.

"I'm going to make sure you fully understand the depth of that vow…" Hazel eyes fixed on the face that had, for a few weeks, been his newest recruit, as Jenkins enunciated the man's real name with lethal care, "Special Agent Seeley Booth."


	32. Chapter 32

Brennan heaved a sigh as she eyed the lopsided tilt of her car. She shook her head, scowling down at the culprit, a flat tire on the passenger side. Her hand automatically delved into her jacket pocket, reaching for her cell phone.

She sighed again and shook her head when her hand predictably came up empty. Pursing her lips in annoyance, she glanced at the brick face of the hospital, her eyes lifting to the third floor windows as she debated going inside to call for a taxi.

Then, she gave a wry chuckle, wondering when the woman who had played tag with Chinese insurgents and faced down South American dictators had disappeared into the person who didn't want to change out her own tire. She shook her head at the thought and pulled her car keys out of her purse.

Pushing the key fob button to unlock the doors, she reached in to drop the bag on the passenger seat and then pulled off the jacket she was wearing, tossing it on top of the purse. Keys in hand, she walked around to the trunk of the car and popped the lock.

Eyeing the neatly organized interior of the trunk with satisfaction, she had no trouble locating the tire iron and the jack and she picked them up, deciding to leave getting the spare tire out for later. Walking back towards the front of the vehicle, she dropped her keys next to her purse and shut the door.

Crouching, she set her tools down on the asphalt near the front tire which had sagged until the rim was touching the ground. A stray breeze blew a hank of her hair into her face, briefly obscuring her vision. With an impatient huff, she reached up, gathered her hair into a handful, and with a deft twist secured it in a hasty knot at the back of her head. As she did so, she became vaguely aware of the sound of a slowly approaching car coming up the aisle between the vehicles.

She started to turn, wondering if it might be the hospital security guards and debating on requesting help to change out the tire. She froze mid-motion and tipped her head curiously, the car behind her forgotten as she eyed an anomaly in the shape of the tire where it bulged out from under the rim.

Leaning forward slightly, she rested one hand on the warm metal of the car's fender to balance herself as she reached out to touch the rubber. Her frown deepened as her fingers found the rough edge of a two-inch wide puncture in the tire's sidewall.

Perplexed, she drew her hand back, her mind swiftly turning over the implications. A soft sound, the hushed noise of a footstep and the slight rattle of a displaced pebble on the asphalt, was her only warning. She started to rise from her crouch and began to turn as the sound registered.

A dark object flashed in her peripheral vision a split-second before blinding pain exploded behind her right ear. Faintly, Brennan heard a soft cry and realized with a vague sense of wonder that the voice was hers. She felt herself falling but was unable to catch herself. Another cry wrenched from her as she felt the side of her face impact against the edge of the wheel well.

A second crashing blow to the back of her head bought an onrushing freight train of darkness. She was unconscious before her body toppled to the asphalt, her arm knocking over the canister jack and the sleeve of her blouse catching on its mechanism.


	33. Chapter 33

_First of all: THANK YOU EVERYONE who is still reading this...and reviewing...and waiting... It WILL be finished...life just seems to be getting in the way lately... I'm working 2 jobs with a sometimes 3rd and there are days when I just can't seem to find the time to sit down and write... SORRY!_

_And...although it is no excuse...I have also found that my "muse" is having a REALLY difficult time dealing with all of the horribly mean things the writers are doing to Booth and Brennan on the show... **picture said muse currently huddled in a corner gibbering on the razor edge of sanity and crying piteously** _

_All joking aside, I have no intention of leaving this undone... and I'm hoping for some serious "write time" this coming Sat. at my 2nd job -- the forecast is calling for a few hours of boring "sit-around-and-wait" time that will hopefully be productive..._

_Thank you all again for the great reviews (which I never anticipated!), your constructive advice (which I will attempt to incorporate!) and for your patience (which I hope to quit taxing!) :-)_

* * *

Booth opened his eyes slowly, disoriented. He blinked, his ears registering a jumbled garble of noise before his sleep-muddled mind sorted the racket into the raucous sounds of a baseball game playing on the television. He frowned blurrily at the screen for a moment, trying to shake off the muddled bemusement of having taken an unexpected nap.

"You know, I'm going to get a complex if you keep falling asleep on me." The amused drawl came from his left and Booth rolled his head on the pillow to find Bass smirking at him. As he watched, a spoonful of pudding disappeared into the smug smile.

Booth glanced at the now-empty table next to his bed, scowled, and then met the laughing blue eyes next to him with a pointed glower at the dessert. Unrepentantly, Bass shoveled another spoonful of the purloined treat into his mouth, speaking around it as he chortled, "You snooze, you lose, Seel-man."

Booth sighed, refusing to rise to the baiting comment. He frowned and glanced around the room, finding it empty besides himself and the younger man. "How long was I out?" His grumble clearly showed the irritation he felt at his own body's betrayal.

Bass's smile edged into sympathy and he tipped his hand to glance at his watch. "I dunno…a couple hours…"

"What?"

"Yeah…I got tired of hearing you snore," Bass smiled at the repressive scowl Booth shot him and continued with a gesture towards the television, "so I turned on the game."

Booth frowned in consternation, "I thought you were going to call Tyler and Cullen…"

"Hmmm…." Another spoonful of pudding disappeared as Bass nodded. "I did. They called back. Said something'd come up and they'd be here as soon as they could." He shrugged, indicating the still empty room with a flourish of Booth's stolen pudding cup. "Obviously, _soon_ is not _now_."

He shot Booth the long-suffering eye roll that went along with his aggrieved expression before he suddenly changed the subject, "Hey, d'ya think we could get Nurse Igor to bring us a few more of these…"

"Who?" The utterly blank look Booth shot him made David grin.

"That male nurse with the personality of a toad," Bass made the attempt to clarify, knowing that Booth probably didn't remember the man.

Booth blinked and tried to decide if he wanted to continue the bizarre conversation or if he would rather just close his eyes and shut out the hospital room once again. The decision was stolen from him as a familiar voice preceded an equally familiar form around the privacy curtain.

"Toad?" Hodgins's quizzical glance darted between the two FBI agents as he walked across the room towards them. He rounded the end of the bed, his blue eyes scanning Booth with minute care as he came to stand at his side. "Hey, Booth."

"Hodgins," Booth suffered Hodgins's close scrutiny and returned the greeting with some wariness, waiting for the teasing quip he was sure would be forthcoming.

Hodgins surprised him. Quietly, and with an unabashedly pleased smile of relief, the entomologist stated, "You look better."

"Uh…. Disconcerted, Booth blinked up at the other man. "Thanks."

Not one to stay serious for long if he could help it, Jack glanced across the bed to eye Bass. "Looks like I missed the free pudding this time though." Amusement laced Hodgins's voice as he and Booth watched David polish off the last of the treat by the simple expediency of running a finger along the inside of the carton and licking the digit clean.

"Yep." Bass's smug rejoinder was punctuated by him giving the empty cup a toss into the small trashcan on the other side of the room. "Two points!" He cheered himself and then grinned at the exasperated sigh that escaped the man in the bed beside him.

"What are you?" Booth grumbled in disgust, "Twelve?" He eyed the trashcan with a sullen scowl, already craving the missing pudding.

Hodgins chortled next to him, enjoying the byplay. The sound brought Booth's head back up and he turned to eye the man with a sudden flare of curiosity. "Why are _you_ here anyway, Hodgins?"

Hodgins affected an injured look that Booth ignored. "Oh, _nice_." He griped in response. "_This_ is what I get when I come by to check and see how a friend's doing?" His grin took the sting out of the petulant words and Booth snorted, amused in spite of himself.

Flashing him another quick smile, Hodgins dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small plastic evidence bag. "Thought you might want this." He dangled the item between them and smirked at the startled blinks he got from both agents.

His smile took on a smug cant as he waited for Booth's reaction, expecting at least a word of gratitude from him. This time, Booth disappointed him. Instead of the response he was expecting, the other man frowned at the micro-SD card, his expression a combination of recognition and puzzlement.

"Nice hiding place, by the way…" Hiding his disappointment at Booth's lack of response, Hodgins grinned at Booth, "Pretty slick for a G-man…don't think even _I_ would've thought to look in your socks…"

"Thanks," Booth granted him a faint quirk of a distracted smile at the compliment even as his eyes drifted across the room to the doorway, "Where's Bones?"

Jack grinned, seeing through what he thought was Booth's transparent attempt at nonchalance. He debated the folly of antagonizing the other man with a bit of gentle teasing as he watched Booth try unsuccessfully to hide his disappointment at seeing Hodgins instead of Brennan.

He shrugged, deciding to store the information away for later use, and answered the question without any embellishment, "I dunno. Actually…I thought she'd be here." He reached into the other jacket pocket with his hand and pulled out a cell phone. "Cam tried to call her a little bit ago, and we found this in her lab coat. She left pretty…quickly…this morning."

He grinned, perfectly aware of exactly why his boss had misplaced her cell phone, remembering the rush Brennan had been in after getting the call from the hospital. His grin faded as he watched a look of consternation cross Booth's features.

He swiftly forgot the joking comment he had been about to make as he watched Booth begin to scowl. "What?" He glanced at Bass for an explanation, and found the younger agent giving Booth a stare that was equal parts concern and question.

"I thought she was going back to…" Bass began, frowning.

"She was." Booth's voice was flat as he interrupted Bass mid-sentence.

Hodgins's eyes darted between the two men, a sinking sensation beginning to create a pit in his stomach as he watched the increasingly grim looks they were exchanging. Uneasy, Jack instinctively closed his hand around the small bag containing the SD card even as he dropped Brennan's cell phone back into his pocket.

"What?" His brows drew down, and his intense stare locked on Booth, demanding an answer. "What's wrong?" He could see Booth debating whether or not to answer him, and he narrowed his eyes warningly.

Booth read the expression on the other man's face, sighed, and relented. "Bones left here a couple of hours ago," His voice was tight, his eyes darkening with a nagging worry. "I'd told her where I'd hidden the card, and she said she was going to go back to the Jeffersonian and get it from you…"

Hodgins shook his head and frowned, his expression going through a rapid series of transformations from confusion to puzzlement to growing concern. "We thought she was here with you…" His eyes narrowed at the sudden tightening of Booth's jaw at his words. In a flurry of motion driven by sudden anxiety, he pulled his own cell phone out of his pocket. A single punch of a button dialed the lab.

As Hodgins waited for someone to pick up at the other end, Booth turned his head to fix Bass with a stony stare. Bass swallowed hard, not wanting to answer the question that was staring at him from Booth's eyes. Gritting his teeth at the non-answer in Bass's expression, Booth finally turned his head and watched Hodgins.

"Cam…" Hodgins's urgency was clear in his voice and he bounced on his toes in impatience as he interrupted his boss's standard greeting, "Cam…is Dr. Brennan there?" Booth and Bass watched as Hodgins's face fell at whatever he heard from the other end of the phone. His lips drew tight and he shook his head slightly at the twin inquiring expressions that were turned on him.

"Okay. No… Booth said she was heading there…" Making a quick decision not to alarm anyone at the lab yet, Hodgins forced a falsely reassuring tone as he continued, "Hey, when she shows up, have her call me, willya? Yeah, thanks, Cam."

He flipped the phone shut, his expression swiftly changing to one of demand and worry as he turned a penetrating glance on the two FBI agents. "What the hell's going on?" His blue eyes were full of mingled dismay and concern.

Booth grimaced and started to shove the blankets off, a determined glint in his eyes as Bass rose to his feet next to him. "I don't know for sure, but I'm going to find out…" He pushed himself to sit fully upright and started to swing his legs towards the edge of the bed, a muffled groan escaping him as the motion caused pain to streak across his midsection.

The sound of the door to the room opening behind the privacy curtain made him pause and three pairs of eyes rose to fix identical hopeful gazes on the end of the barrier. Booth's shoulders sagged, Bass grimaced, and Hodgins's breath escaped him in a disappointed sigh as Taylor and Cullen entered the room, Amelia following a few steps behind the two men.

"Agent Bass. Agent Booth," Cullen's voice was coolly formal. Eyeing his agent with a knowing stare, he lifted one eyebrow at Booth in obvious disapproval of his aborted action. "I don't think your physician was planning on releasing you for a couple of days, Booth." The words were mild, but the note of reprimand in Cullen's voice was unmistakable.

"Something's come up, sir." Booth tried for a respectful tone, but his voice held an edge of irritation and a dark undercurrent of teeth being tightly gritted against the pain his motion had caused.

"Yes. I'm very aware of what's 'come up', Booth." Cullen's voice was a study in mingled understanding and hard-edged command as he continued formally, "Consider yourself on medical leave, and relieved of duty until further notice."

Booth froze. His incredulous stare pinned the other man and Cullen raised his chin slightly and squared his shoulders against the argument he knew would be forthcoming.

It began innocuously, a single word spoken in a voice that held disbelief and dismay. "Sir?"

Cullen sighed. "You heard me, Booth." He flicked a quick glance in Hodgins's direction, obviously reluctant to speak in front of the entomologist, before he continued, "I'll explain later. Right now, I want you to…"

Bristling in response to the dismissive glance Cullen had shot him, Hodgins broke in, "What the _hell_ is going on?" His voice was tense and there was a belligerent thrust to his chin as he turned to face Cullen.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Bass shooting him a warning glance and he noted that the younger agent had also dropped a restraining hand onto Booth's shoulder. He saw Booth flash a furious glare up at the younger man. His attention was drawn back to Cullen when the Deputy Director spoke again, and he missed the silent exchange between Booth and Bass as David shook his head minutely in warning.

"Dr. Hodgins," Cullen acknowledged Jack's presence with an abbreviated nod, his eyes coolly daring him to continue his outburst. Taylor flicked him a quick glance, but didn't speak. Behind them both, Amelia shot him a tiny, commiserating smile that swiftly disappeared into a stoic mask of professionalism.

Hodgins's eyebrows rose swiftly, his blue eyes touching both men before he glanced back at Booth, expecting an outburst. He hid his surprise as he realized that Booth's intent to rise from the bed had subsided. The agent was still tense, and he was eyeing his boss with a stony stare, but he had settled back into a reclining position.

As he watched, Booth darted a pointed glance at him that could only be interpreted as an appeal for him to back off. Jack drew in a deep breath, fighting the urge to continue to demand answers. Holding Booth's steady gaze, he watched as the other man's jaw tightened and felt the steady rise of tension in the room. Weighing Booth's stoic expression, Jack nodded slightly, trusting the agent enough to acquiesce to his unspoken request.

Cullen, following Hodgins's stare, glanced briefly at his agent and noted Booth's rapidly darkening expression before he turned back to the Jeffersonian's entomologist. "If you don't mind, Dr. Hodgins, we need to speak to Agent Booth and Agent Bass…_privately_." He emphasized the final word with a lift of his eyebrows that made Jack seethe with indignation.

Hodgins glanced at Booth again and managed to tamp down the urge to reply with biting sarcasm. "Uh…" He noted the muscle that had started to jump in Booth's jaw and, recognizing the tell-tale sign from past experience, he was relieved that this time it wasn't aimed at him.

"Hey… um…" Hodgins forced an uneasy smile as his glance darted from Booth to Bass and back to Cullen, the sinking sensation in his gut growing stronger as his always-healthy sense of paranoia reared its head. "Right."

He swallowed the objection he wanted desperately to voice and turned his full attention on Booth. The other man had fixed his boss with a flinty stare that didn't bode well for the upcoming discussion.

Making a split-second decision, Hodgins palmed the tiny SD card and pulled his hand out of his pocket. He reached out to grasp Booth's hand in a farewell grip, as close to a handshake as he could manage with the obstruction of the cast on Booth's arm. He forced himself to bury as much of the sarcasm as he could manage as he quipped, "Hey…look's like I'm not invited to this party, Booth."

The touch of his fingers finally broke Booth's concentration on Cullen. He glanced up at Hodgins, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before it was quickly suppressed. "What?" He frowned up at the other man at the unusually familiar gesture.

"I think I'll just… uh… you know, head back to the lab…" Hodgins continued to ramble verbally as he transferred the SD card into Booth's palm. He pushed with his fingertips, sliding it under the edge of the cast as he rapped the hard surface covering Booth's wrist with the knuckles of his left hand as a distraction. "I guess I'll have to sign this for you later."

He watched Booth's face go carefully blank before the agent nodded a response, "Yeah…sure." Booth shot him a tight smile, apologizing for the abrupt dismissal. "Sorry…"

"No…hey, man, I know how it is…" Jack's return smile was equally as forced. "Later, dude." He tipped Bass a quick nod, gauging the younger man's expression and deciding that he had seen the transfer of the data card. "Bass." Hodgins weighed the other man's expression, wondering if he would comment on the exchange.

"Hodgins." Bass kept both his voice and face carefully neutral as he returned Hodgins's nod. "I'll drop by the Jeffersonian for those test results as soon as I can."

Hiding his relief at Bass's poker face behind a quick smile, Hodgins nodded, "Yeah…sure."

He headed for the door, skirting around Taylor, Cullen, and Amelia's still forms. He paused, holding the door open for a moment as he called back, "Take care, Booth." He slipped out of the room, pulling the door almost shut behind himself.

Hodgins took four steps away from the door and then paused. Dropping to one knee, he pretended to tie his shoe. Keeping his head down, he watched the door out of the corner of his eye for a long moment, looking for any telltale sign of being followed.

When nobody appeared in the doorway to make sure of his departure, he stood and carefully edged back towards the door. He flattened his back against the wall near the hinge and with great care, pushed gently on the panel. He eased the door open a few precious inches, and then settled in to listen, his face a study in intense concentration as he strained to hear what was being said in the room.


	34. Chapter 34

Darkness and motion surrounding her. The smell of exhaust, oil, and gasoline burning in her nose. Gagging against the odor, trying to focus past the pain pounding in her head. A tremor of atavistic terror shuddering through her as memories rose, clamored for attention.

Dirt. Darkness. _Buried alive_.

"Hodgins?" Dizziness and a vague sense of wrongness as the whisper disappeared into the black. Realizing there was no one else sharing the darkness this time. Alone.

A wrenching sense of displacement and a paralyzing fear jolting through her. A whimper that didn't quite escape her throat. _I didn't mean to break it… please…it slipped…please, I'll be good…_

No. Not right either. This darkness was moving, not quiet and still like that time before.

Swallowing hard against rising nausea, forcing the fear back and down. Ears finally hearing the sound of tires rushing swiftly on asphalt, motor rumbling a vibration all around her. Throbbing pain centering her as a thump from beneath and a jolt of the vehicle stabbed through her head.

Renewed panic as she tried to touch the source of the pain and couldn't. Finding her hands tied behind her. Cramped. Feet pressing against the side of the darkness, something hard-edged pressing against her shoulder.

"Hey!" The shout, lost in the rush of road noise, fading unheard into the blackness. Rising anger driving fear away as she scowled into the unforgiving darkness. Striking out with her feet, trying to be heard.

Groaning as the impact sent shafts of pain through her skull. Curling up against the shards of light flashing behind her eyes, the lurch of her stomach protesting the motion. Head spinning as noise, motion, and pain blurred and mingled.

A low moan escaping her as the darkness pressed in, smothering her. Lips forming an almost silent whisper. Trying to conjure a familiar and comforting presence that supported...laughed...loved...rescued.

"Booth…"

Engine noise swallowing the faint sound. Surroundings fading slowly as her eyes closed against the blackness. Drifting.


	35. Chapter 35

_I think I played a bit fast and loose with the "chain of evidence" thing... *shrug* Hopefully "the powers that be" won't revoke my literary license... _

* * *

As Hodgins pulled the door shut behind him, Bass watched Cullen walk quietly across the room to stand at the end of the hospital bed. He flicked a quick inquiring glance at his own boss, trying without success to get Tyler to meet his eyes directly as the older man ghosted forward to stand slightly behind and to the right of the Deputy Director.

Behind them both, Amelia shifted nervously, drawing Bass's gaze. She flashed him a fleeting, strained smile before her eyes made a swift circuit, touching briefly on Booth's tense form before darting to Tyler and Cullen.

Grimacing at the tension emanating from the three men, she edged over to stand near the window. She lifted one shoulder at Bass in a shrug, obviously unsure of what to do with herself. She settled for leaning a shoulder against the window casing and staring out over the hospital parking lot.

Bass glanced away from her, dropping his eyes to Booth as the other man shifted in the bed. Booth's brow was furrowed and a slight frown pulled at his features as he stared thoughtfully across the room, not at Cullen, but at the young intern. Bass blinked and began to follow the other man's gaze.

The sound of Cullen clearing his throat in the uncomfortable silence redirected Booth's attention and gaze shifted. He narrowed his eyes, the niggling thought that he had been toying with disappearing in the face of Cullen's somber expression.

"What's going on…sir?" Booth's voice was deceptively composed, the carefully expressionless face he was presenting to the room saying more than words could about the tight hold he was keeping on his temper.

Knowing his own agent well enough to be suspicious of the calm, Cullen narrowed his eyes at the blunt question. He sighed, fearing that the rest of the conversation was going to be a study in aggravation. He tried to keep his voice composed and firm as he began explaining, "Shortly after Bass called us, we received a message from Jenkins…"

He realized that he had underestimated Booth when the man speared him with a direct stare that dared him to quibble. "They've got Bo…" Booth broke off halfway through the nickname and corrected himself, "Dr. Brennan." His voice was flat, misleadingly unemotional, and the words were a statement, not a question.

Cullen sighed heavily. Officially, Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth were only partners. Unofficially, Cullen was a man who could read between the lines, and he had a good idea of the depth of the relationship between the two, even without the carefully worded, sometimes evasive reports he received from Dr. Sweets.

Very aware of the fact that Booth would not appreciate anything other than brutal honesty, he nodded, "Yes." His voice held reluctant commiseration.

"He _claims_ he has her anyway." Not having Cullen's experience with the ex-Army sniper, and uncomfortable with making a declarative statement of fact without proof, Tyler attempted to qualify Cullen's frank assessment.

He grimaced as Booth, Bass and Cullen all pinned him with hard-edged, practical stares at his attempt to equivocate. After a brief, scathing moment, Booth's glacial glare transferred from Tyler to his own boss, the cool dismissal causing Tyler to flush with irritation and mentally thank whatever deities involved that he did not have to deal with the man on a regular basis.

"What's he asking for?" Ignoring Tyler's fuming, Booth questioned, his eyes as hard as his tone.

Though still bristling, Tyler jumped back into the conversation before Cullen could answer, "The evidence." Booth's gaze turned back to him and, having learned from his mistake, this time Tyler met it head-on. "He wants the data card you downloaded."

Next to him, Cullen flicked a quick glance at Tyler and opened his mouth as if he wanted to add something. He hesitated, glanced at Booth, silently debated what he had been about to say, and then closed his mouth. His face went carefully expressionless and his eyes grew guarded as he waited for Booth to respond.

Booth's jaw tightened and his right hand clenched, the SD card lying hot against his palm where it was hidden inside the cast. Next to him, Bass shifted his weight, the motion drawing Booth's gaze as the younger man tipped his head inquiringly, "So…we give it to him, right? Just copy it." There was an edge of impatience to the young agent's voice.

Before he could finish speaking, Booth was shaking his head. His greater experience on the job, and especially the years of working with his own personal team of squints, stood him in good stead as he explained, "Won't work. As soon as he looks at it, he'll _know_ we gave him a copy…there'll be a time stamp on the data…" His knowledge, courtesy of Angela's unknowing tutelage, did nothing to ease the rising agitation he was feeling.

Bass frowned, and then nodded his understanding. "Okay…then…" He started to offer another solution, but Booth, knowing what was coming next, grimaced and shook his head again before he could voice his thoughts.

"We can't copy it and give him the original either, Dave." Bass blinked at him in puzzlement and Booth sighed.

Booth glanced back to Cullen and held his gaze, his voice gruff as he acknowledged the dilemma, "If we give him the original, the chain of evidence is broken and nothing we have…_none_ of the data…would be admissible. There wouldn't be anything the prosecution could use. He'd walk."

Cullen nodded confirmation of Booth's concise summary, his face grim. The earlier glance that Cullen had given Tyler replayed in Booth's mind and his eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. Fixing the man with a direct stare, Booth asked, "What _else_ is he demanding, sir?"

The honorific was clipped and Booth watched as Cullen suddenly looked like he'd swallowed something extremely distasteful. He was vaguely aware of the eye-roll Tyler gave Cullen, but he kept his gaze firmly fixed on his boss, waiting for an answer that he already suspected.

Cullen's shoulders slumped slightly, correctly reading Booth's direct stare. He exhaled loudly, running a hand across the back of his neck as he tried to rub away the tension that had gathered there. "You, Booth." His admission was reluctant, but forthright.

Bass closed his eyes with a muttered curse. Tyler's gaze jumped between his own agent and Booth while Cullen dropped his hand. He watched Booth with a steady, penetrating stare as he clarified Jenkins's request, "He wants the card…and you."

Booth's smile was feral as he muttered a quiet jibe, "And not necessarily in _that_ order." He paused and drew in a deep breath that made his ribs complain bitterly. Ignoring the twinge, he demanded, "Exactly what did he say?" His utter lack of surprise and the quiet determination his voice worried Cullen.

Cullen frowned and then decided to come completely clean with the man who was staring at him with stoic insistence. "The contact center got it on tape…" He reluctantly pulled a small voice recorder out of his jacket pocket. A wry twist of Booth's mouth acknowledged Cullen's forethought in bringing a copy of the recording with him.

Cullen pressed a button, and the small speaker filled the room with the voice that Booth had become too familiar with over the course of the past few weeks.

"_I currently have Dr. Temperance Brennan as my…guest. I have been told that the FBI has a certain data card containing information that belongs to me."_

The voice coming from the speaker was coolly dispassionate. Booth listened, schooling his face into an expressionless mask, as it continued,_ "At this time, I am willing to make a…trade."_

The statement was simple, the voice filled with calm logic. Booth's eyes fixed on a distant point, recent memories of that exact same tone eliciting an unconscious twinge of remembrance from the bruises that marked his torso. A muscle in his jaw twitched as the recording continued, _"I will release Dr. Brennan, alive and unharmed, in exchange for the data card." _

Bass glanced from his former commander to SAIC Tyler. As his eyes met his current boss's, he caught the slight shake of Tyler's head and knew that the decision had already been made by the powers above Booth and himself. He scowled and looked away.

"_I also have it on good authority that one of your Special Agents is currently residing in one of your local hospitals. I would like to extend a special … invitation…to Seeley Booth."_

Booth blinked, entirely unsurprised. Jenkins's demand was something he had expected as soon as Hodgins had revealed the fact that Bones hadn't made it to the Jeffersonian. He lifted his gaze up and to the left, meeting the Bass's angry stare with a faint smile that held absolutely no humor.

"_I believe Agent Booth and I should meet again. I would like to discuss the concepts of…obligation and fidelity with him. I am quite certain the conversation will be… most enlightening." _

Although the voice hadn't changed in volume or tenor, Booth nodded slightly to no one in particular at the barely suppressed rage he could hear within the words.

"_I would hate to have to lower myself to making clichéd threats, but, I am certain, having been in combat zones himself, that Agent Booth has a good idea of what will happen to the lovely Dr. Brennan should my…_ _requests…be ignored."_

Though the menace to himself had drawn no response from the man reclining in the hospital bed, these words succeeded. Having seen it only a few times before while he served under the older man, Bass swallowed hard at the expression that replaced the humorless smile on Booth's face.

Booth felt the muscles across his chest and in his arms tense and he clenched his fists as a surge of adrenaline rushed through him. He knew that if he were to look in a mirror now, a coolly emotionless mask with eyes that promised death would be staring back at him.

"_The trade is to be made at a time and place of my choosing. I will contact you when I have chosen the location."_

The final words of the message barely registered. Booth ignored the piercing gaze that Cullen fixed on him as he watched the other man stop the recording. For the space of several tightly controlled breaths, the room was still.

Tyler jumped into the tense silence, "Obviously, there's no way we can acquiesce to his demands and…"

"He's got _Dr. Brennan_," Booth raised his voice to talk over the top of Tyler and shot the man a withering glare before dismissing him out of hand. He turned an intense gaze on Cullen.

"I'll go. Send me in with a copy of the card. It might not fool him in the long run, but I know I can manage to piss him off badly enough that he'll focus on me." Booth's smile was mirthless. "It'll buy enough time for a backup team to find Dr. Brennan and get her out of there."

"No." Cullen shook his head, his own voice holding a thread of steel as he denied his agent's request, "We already have negotiators on standby for his next communication, Booth. They'll work out a more satisfactory arrangement with Jenkins and…"

"With all due respect…" Booth interrupted again, his voice rising as he all but snarled the words. His body was rigid with the effort of not jumping out of the bed and confronting his boss face to face. "You don't _know_ this man. He's a fanatic. He's _not_ going to settle for anything less than what he's asked for."

Cullen shook his head emphatically. "No." His stern tone left no room for argument. "The hostage negotiators will handle it, Booth. The FBI cannot comply with blackmail and there is no way in hell I am going to authorize handing over one of my best men…"

"Dammit, Cullen…" Hearing the volume of his own shout, Booth's face flushed, and then all color drained from it and his jaw tightened as he gritted out, "They have _Bones..._"

Cullen closed his eyes against the unspoken plea that he could see buried under the fury on Booth's face. His determination softened. He found himself actually weighing the merits of his plan until Booth's next pig-headed words jolted him out of his thoughts and sent a shaft of unadulterated irritation through him.

"There's no way I'm going to sit it out while your men try to talk that psycho into…" Booth growled. His glare was accompanied by a motion that was a precursor to him pushing himself out of the hospital bed.

"Agent Booth…" Cullen's voice went as icily rigid as his spine, freezing Booth mid-motion. His temper flared at the outright defiance of Booth's words. "You are _injured_." Cullen stated the obvious in a tone that not-so-quietly berated his field agent for being an ass. "Let us handle it. The shape you're in, there is nothing you're going to be able to do to help us…"

"_Sir_…"

"_Do I have to make it an order_?"

The two raised voices clashed like crossed sabers before a deafening quiet fell between them. Brows furrowed, nostrils flaring, bodies rigid, fists clenched, Cullen and Booth glared stonily at each other across the length of the hospital bed, each silently daring the other to speak again.

"Sir," Bass interjected, making his voice deliberately soothing as he stepped forward, "It doesn't have to come to that." His motion gave Cullen an excuse to break the tense staring match with Booth, and he transferred his glower to the younger agent.

"He's not thinking clearly…" As Cullen's eyes met his own blue gaze, David gave him an easy smile and a shrug, trying to defuse the tight-jawed standoff between the two men. "You know…pain meds…" He tried to excuse Booth's obvious bout of insanity.

Booth flinched and then rolled his eyes up to pin Bass with a disbelieving scowl. His shock and irritation at the younger man's defection was obvious. "Bass…" The word was a furious growl.

Bass refused to quail under the fuming brown glower as he turned slightly to face Booth. He narrowed his own eyes in warning as he continued, "Cullen's right. You're in no shape to be making these kinds of decisions, and serving yourself up to Jenkins on a platter…"

As Bass turned, he angled himself so that his right hand was hidden from Cullen and Tyler by his body. "…is just plain crazy…" As he finished his statement, he flashed a quick movement of his hand behind the cover of his torso. Counting on Booth to catch the motion and recognize the military signal to stand down, Bass beamed down at his former Sergeant with a guileless smile. "Right?"

Booth's glower flickered for a moment as he hesitated. Then, with a scowl and an unintelligible grumble, he relented, his eyes promising retribution. He forced himself to relax back against the bed, but was unable to fully disguise his resentment as the muscle in his jaw gave another involuntary twitch.

"Booth?" Cullen's voice held a quiet question and an underlying edge of demand, the older man not quite trusting in the sudden capitulation.

"Sir?" Booth couldn't quite manage to keep the sullen note out of his voice, but his chin lifted and his gaze met Cullen's directly.

Cullen sighed, unable to miss the bitterness simmering in Booth's eyes. He shook his head and decided to allow himself to change the subject. "We'll need that data card…"

"Ah…yeah, the card…" Bass broke in again, glancing swiftly from Booth to Cullen, his words tumbling over themselves like a pack of eager puppies. "Right….Uh…Booth told Dr. Brennan that he'd hidden it in his clothing…" He flashed a quick glance at Booth as he asked, "You hid it in your socks, right?"

Booth angled a guarded gaze up at him and nodded shortly. His right hand clenched in a fist around the plaster edge of the cast and his jaw tensed.

"Yeah, right…" Bass turned his eyes back to meet Tyler's and Cullen's stares, not giving Booth the time to expound further even if he had been so inclined. "When Dr. Brennan was here…earlier…she said she'd given all his stuff to her people at the Jeffersonian…" Bass smiled ingratiatingly at the two agents and left the sentence to hang in the silence of the room.

"In that case, I think a trip to the Jeffersonian is in order," Tyler spoke quietly into the lull. He turned to face the young woman who had watched the entire encounter with wide green eyes and lips parted in surprise. He raised his voice slightly to make sure he got her full attention, "Amelia, could you bring the car around?"

She blinked, and then visibly shook herself. Closing her mouth, she nodded twice. "Ye…yes, sir." She flashed a quick nervous smile at the room in general, her eyes not wanting to rest too long on any of the four faces that had suddenly focused on her.

She backed away from the four men, turned, and headed towards the door. They watched as she yanked the door open and darted forward, wanting to put as much distance between their stormy expressions and herself as possible.

Tyler sighed and shook his head. He waited for Cullen as the other man eyed the agent in the bed one last time. After a momentary hesitation, Cullen finally spoke into the quiet. "Booth…" Booth raised his gaze, eyeing his boss from under the dubious cover of a frown.

"For what it's worth…I'm sorry. You know we'll do everything we can."

"Yes, sir." Booth's tone was cool, holding a hint of resigned disbelief.

Cullen sighed and shook his head ruefully as he turned away, his eyes meeting Tyler's. Tyler grimaced and began to turn to follow his intern out of the room. He was stopped by his own agent's voice.

Bass took a step forward, his eyes firm on his boss's face. "You'll let us know if anything changes, sir?" The question was a quietly couched request.

Three sets of eyes fell on him and Bass lifted his chin in silent demand. After a brief hesitation, Tyler nodded, his motion echoed faintly by Cullen.

David's tightly-squared shoulders slumped a bit as the tension eased out of them. He graced both men with a slight smile. "Thanks." After nodding identical acknowledgements, Cullen and Tyler exchanged a quick glance and turned to file out of the door.

Behind them, Bass heaved a deep sigh. He continued to stare after them for a long moment, not quite sure he was ready to turn to meet the eyes that he could feel boring a smoking hole between his shoulder blades.


	36. Chapter 36

_Hi again,_

_I want to let everybody know that I am absolutely floored by all the fantastic reviews you've given me. THANK YOU!_

_I DO read each and every one and wish I could respond to every one!_

_A million thanks to every one of you who is liking this well enough to put up with my slow posts! **:-)**_

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Blue eyes glittering with repressed emotion, his mind whirling at what he had overheard, Hodgins almost missed Tyler's quiet command to his intern as it drifted out to where he was unashamedly listening in on their conversation. Stifling a squawk of alarm, he darted down the hospital hallway and skidded to a halt behind the counter at the nurses' station.

Crouching down, he duck-walked forward a few steps, trying to edge out of sight under the desktop. He heard the quick, light tread of footsteps as Amelia hurried past his hiding place, heading towards the elevator.

Quietly, Jack edged forward, pushing a rolling office chair aside slightly as he hunkered in to wait. Frowning as he replayed the overheard conversation in his mind, Hodgins scowled as he peered in the direction of Booth's room, worrying about what he might now be missing.

After a long second, he heard the quiet ding of the elevator followed by the subtle swoosh of the doors opening and closing. Cocking a wary ear towards the hospital room, Hodgins decided to hedge his bets and pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, dialing it with a punch of a button.

He waited a moment as it connected, and then began to speak in a hushed tone when he heard the voice on the other end. "Ange?" He rose up slightly, trying to peek over the counter edge enough to eye the doorway.

Seeing no motion beyond the open door, he spoke with urgent swiftness, "Wait, Ange…don't ask questions…just listen." He ignored the slightly indignant splutter on the other end of the line and continued speaking, "Did you copy the data that was on that card?"

He nodded to himself as Angela answered him. "Okay, okay…" His voice grew more intense, his words swift and firm. "Ange, Dr. Brennan's in trouble." He huffed a sigh, grimaced, and rolled his eyes as she predictably interrupted him with a passionate question.

"_Gravedigger_ type trouble, Ange." He answered her shortly, knowing that the succinct, if slightly overstated, summation would ensure her full cooperation until he could get to the Jeffersonian to explain further.

"Now, listen…" He spoke into the shocked silence that came from the other end of the connection. "Make another copy of the data. Put it on another card. Cullen and Tyler are on their way there. Don't let them know I called. Don't ask questions. Just give them the copy and pretend it's the original."

He listened as Angela asked another, this time very brief, question. He flinched as he saw a flicker of motion from within the hospital room and ducked back below the level of the counter. He lowered his voice and answered Angela's somewhat panicked query as he edged back further under the desk. "Yeah, I know…I know. Don't worry. Booth's got it."

His voice dropped to a stealthy whisper. "I can't explain right now, but I think we'll be there soon. Gotta go." Hodgins hurriedly disconnected the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. As he did, Tyler and Cullen emerged from the room and paused just outside of Booth's door, both of them reaching into their pockets and pulling out their own cell phones.

Hearing the quiet murmur of their voices, Jack slid back further and concentrated on trying to be invisible. He held himself motionless as he listened, trying to catch what Cullen and Tyler were saying. He was so focused on them that he didn't hear the soft-soled footsteps that approached from behind where he was crouching.

A light tap on his shoulder sent his heart leaping into his throat and he only just managed to bite back a yelp of shock. Instead, he found himself whirling and almost falling, his knees screaming in protest at the abuse as he spun to face his attacker.

The nurse, Brenda, loomed over him and stared down at him with an expression that was a cross between world-weary amusement and pointed inquiry. Jack gaped up at her for a moment, his blue eyes wide and his mouth open in a soundless gasp of surprise. His imitation of a landed carp only deepened the amusement in her gaze.

Recovering quickly, he pressed a finger against his lips, his eyes beseeching, begging her to remain silent. When she crossed her arms over her chest, tipped her head to the side and pursed her lips in obvious disapproval, Hodgins theatrically and totally unselfconsciously folded his hands in front of his chest and implored soundlessly, mouthing the word, "Please." He shamelessly put every ounce of effort into appearing boyishly charming.

Brenda's eyes flicked up from the man crouching in front of her to the two men who had begun walking down the hall towards the station, recognizing them from the previous day. As she watched, both men drew closer, oblivious to her as they pressed cell phones to their ears, keeping their voices low while they hurried down the hallway.

Making a quick decision, she unfolded her arms and stepped around the man huddled behind the counter. She moved the chair slightly and stood in front of him, using her own body as a barrier. Hearing a soft sigh of relief from near her knees, she smiled faintly and edged closer to the desk. She dropped her gaze to the folders resting on the desk's surface while she watched the progress of the two suits from under downturned lashes.

Her eyes narrowed in thought as she shuffled through the stack of paperwork and found a folder with a familiar name on it. Flipping it open, she scanned the information in front of her in between sneaking quick glances down at the person hiding at her feet and then up at the two men who were now waiting for the elevator to reach the third floor.

When the soft hiss of the elevator doors closing behind them finally carried down the hall, Brenda angled her head to redirect her gaze onto the gimlet blue eyes that were still turned upwards, staring intently at her. "Okay." Her voice was dry, "I think the correct phrase is, '_the coast is clear_'…" She eyed the man crouching next to her quizzically.

Jack bounced up, hesitated just long enough to flick a quick confirming glance down the hallway, and then reached out to drag the nurse into a spontaneous hug. "You're great!" He punctuated his statement with a swift smack of a kiss on Brenda's cheek before he pulled away with a chuckle. "Thanks!"

He started to go around her, his intent clearly to head back to Booth's room. She stopped him cold with the simple expediency of grabbing the back of his jacket. "Ohh, no you don't. Just wait a second there, Blue-eyes…"

Hodgins, caught, turned back to stare at her in question, the wide-eyed innocence on his face doing nothing this time to ease the stern frown Brenda was giving him. "Um…yeah?"

She released him and folded her arms across her chest, pinning him with a narrow-eyed stare. "What's going on?"

"Urm…" Hodgins flirted with the idea of lying, but a slight twitch under the woman's narrowing left eye made him shy away from spinning a tall tale. He met her eyes directly instead and summed up, "Our friend's in trouble. She's been kidnapped and _they_…" He jerked an insouciant thumb in the direction of the elevator, "Want _us_ to let _them_ 'handle everything'." Hodgins didn't have to air-quote the last words, his voice adequately conveyed his cynical opinion of the idea.

Brenda blinked at him, obviously weighing his statement.

Hodgins fidgeted under her unwavering stare.

"And let me guess…" Brenda finally sighed and planted her hands on her hips as she shook her head at him knowingly. "The friend in trouble is the young lady from the ER. The one that's _that boy's_…" With a twitch of her head in the direction of Booth's room, she indicated her patient as she continued, "Partner?" She gave the word the same wry intonation as she had while speaking with Brennan in the waiting room.

Jack nodded, his face solemn, his eyes earnest, almost quivering in his eagerness to dart down the hall and back into Booth's room.

After a long second, another sigh broke from Brenda and she shooed him away with a flip of her fingers. "Go." The command was followed by a not quite intelligible mumble that Hodgins wasn't sure he wanted repeated for clarification.

"Thanks." He flashed another mercurial smile and was moving before she had fully turned back to the desk.

He covered the distance between the desk and the doorway to Booth's room in a dash. Without hesitation, he slipped silently into the room, his ears picking up the sounds of an argument already in progress.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking of?" Booth's voice was tight, and Hodgins imagined he could hear the man's teeth grinding in agitated frustration.

"Hey…what can I say, Seel?" Bass's voice was defensive and irritated. "You never _could_ lie worth shit. You're too much of a damned boy scout…" Hodgins grinned appreciatively at the acerbic comment as he silently closed the door behind himself.

The noise Booth made in response was unmistakably rude and had an undercurrent of a muttered vulgarity. Bass's harried sigh carried even to where Hodgins was standing just inside the door. Hodgins paused, deciding to eavesdrop for a moment and see what information he could glean before he revealed his presence.

As he waited, a softly muffled thump punctuated Bass's next words. "Don't give me crap about it, okay? Look at the bright side. You're _officially_ on medical leave, so your time is your own." The ripping sound of a zipper being yanked with more ferocity than care preceded the next statement and almost managed to cover a low groan that could only have come from Booth.

"I also managed to keep Cullen from slapping you with a _direct order_, so…"

The word trailed off and a brief hesitation followed before Bass's voice began again, his choked tone a bemused mix of glee, disbelief, and derision, "Oh, God, Seeley, those are just _so very _wrong on _so_ many different levels."

A sound much like a snarl answered him. "Can it, Fish."

Bass answered with a snigger and continued his earlier train of thought, "Anyway, like I said, no direct order, so you can't be called on the carpet for _disobeying_ orders…seeing how he didn't actually _order_ you to stay out of it."

Jack's mouth twisted in a wry grin as he found himself thoroughly approving of Bass's style of logic. He heard the sound of rustling cloth and another pained groan before Bass spoke again.

"Oh, hey, here's a shirt." A soft '_twhap'_ and a startled grunt from Booth disrupted the flow of words for a moment before Bass continued smugly, "And, _you've_ got the data card."

Booth's voice was filled with exasperation as he finally broke into Bass's monologue, "Oh, _yeah_, I've got the card. And…Ow!" A hiss of pain was interjected between the words, and when Booth continued speaking, small gasps broke his sentence into fragments, "Damn! So…what d'we do…when they get… to the Jeffersonian… and they find out…" This time it was a groan that interrupted the words before he continued, the strain in his voice more noticeable, "That Hodgins …already brought it… here to us, _genius_?" Sarcasm was thick in Booth's voice.

Hodgins frowned at the unmistakable current of pain he could hear buried beneath the mocking tone, and he edged one eye out to peer around the curtain. He watched the two men in front of him as they remained unaware of his presence.

Booth was half leaning, half sitting on the hospital bed. A pair of jeans had been dragged partially up his legs, the waistband having reached mid-thigh before his knees had given out on him, forcing him to collapse back down to rest on the bed.

Next to him rested a crumpled wad of black cloth which Hodgins presumed was the shirt Bass had mentioned. A white bandage slashed across Booth's stomach, creating a stark, sterile boundary between the waistband of a garishly colored pair of boxers below the knife wound, and the kaleidoscopic swirls of bruising that covered his torso above it.

Bass stood at the end of the bed, Booth's duffle bag gaping open in front of him. His back was to Hodgins and he couldn't see the younger man's face as he squirmed uncomfortably, at a loss to answer Booth's last question.

"Uh…" Bass punctuated the noncommittal grunt by pulling a set of worn sneakers and a pair of socks out of the duffle. He tossed them carefully towards Booth, where they landed next to the T-shirt he had flung at him earlier.

"Gimme your phone…" Booth heaved a harassed sigh and eyed the rest of the clothing with pained resignation while he held out his hand. "I'll call Hodgins, have him come back here and…"

Hodgins decided to take that as his cue. "No need." He slipped out from behind the curtain and started across the room towards the two FBI agents.

Both men flinched at his sudden appearance. Bass whirled around and gaped at him as he came closer. Booth, on the other hand, recovered quickly. He blinked owlishly once, and then a faint grin curved his mouth as he let his hand drop. Deciding to take Hodgins's appearance in stride, Booth picked up the T-shirt and shook it out.

"I thought you left…" Bass's statement was more of a question as he glanced from Hodgins to the door behind him.

Jack grinned wolfishly at him. "Nope."

As Hodgins drew near, Booth slipped one arm of the T-shirt over his cast, pulling the material up to his shoulder. Ducking slightly and tugging with his left hand, he managed to get the shirt over his head. Jack snorted his amusement at the tousled mess the shirt made of the man's normally impeccable hair.

Booth flicked him a wry twist of his lips as, with a poorly disguised wince, he worked his left arm into its sleeve and gingerly pulled the shirt down over his battered body. His voice was strained and he was obviously trying to make an effort to hide pain as he asked, "You heard?" He correctly assumed that the conspiracy-theory gene that ran rampant in Hodgins's makeup would have had the other man listening in on the conversation that had taken place in the room.

"Yeah." Hodgins met his grim stare with one of his own, a flare of defiant anger glinting in his eyes. Booth nodded appreciatively at what he saw in the other man's gaze. He tugged the tiny plastic baggie out from under the edge of his cast and held it out to the entomologist.

"So?" Only one word was needed between them as Booth's eyes silently questioned him.

Knowing from past experience that Booth was asking for an update, Hodgins drew in a deep breath and informed him with quiet succinctness, "I called Angela. She'd already made a copy of the data for us to work with, so she's going to copy it onto another card and give that one to Cullen." Hodgins held Booth's eyes as he reached out, took the SD card, and dropped it back into his own jacket pocket.

Booth smiled wryly and darted a quick glance over to where Bass was watching them with a perplexed frown. "So, we've got a little breathing space before our bosses find out they've only got a copy and they decide to hand us our own asses on a platter…." Booth hesitated, thinking. "Good."

The last word came out on a groan as Booth levered himself up off of the bed, one-handedly trying to pull his jeans up over the wildly-colored boxers he was wearing. His awkward motion pulled Hodgins's gaze down in an automatic response, and he swiftly looked back up with a poorly stifled snigger of repressed amusement, one of Bass's earlier comments suddenly flashing back through his mind.

Booth paused to glower repressively into Hodgins's smirking face. His brows drew down into a scowl even as two hectic spots of color appeared high on his cheekbones.

"Gift…" He struggled to grasp the waistband of the jeans with his casted right hand as well as with his left in an effort to hide the incriminating evidence as quickly as possible. He sucked in a pained breath as his motions aggravated his injuries, and hissed it out in with a grumbled attempt at an explanation, "From Parker…"

"Ahh…right…um…" Jack turned away, choking on a laugh as he tried to focus his mind anywhere but on the bright yellow face of the cartoon character that was grinning maniacally from the front of Booth's underwear. Bass had been correct, SpongeBob on the front of a pair of boxers was just so terribly _wrong_.

A low growl of annoyance rewarded his effort as Booth finally managed to pull the jeans up, button them, and zip the fly. He sank back onto the bed with a sound that brought Jack's attention fully back to him, all amusement vanishing.

"Hey…" Hodgins eyed Booth's face, which had paled under the bruising, with concern. "Maybe you should…"

"Don't." Even with his eyes closed against the dizziness that was threatening, Booth managed to sound menacing.

Hodgins flinched, nodded and exchanged a quick glance with Bass. He noticed that the younger man was eyeing Booth with the same concern Jack was feeling. They exchanged a long glance, both knowing that nothing they could say would deter their friend.

Hodgins spoke again, his voice quiet, "Okay."

Booth opened his eyes and met his gaze, reading the respect, acceptance, and understanding in the other man's direct stare. He reached for the pair of socks on the bed, biting back a moan at the thought of having to bend over to put them on his feet.

He froze suddenly, staring past Hodgins, his eyes going wide. Hodgins frowned and turned, peripherally aware of Bass doing the same.

"Uh oh…" Hodgins summed up the feeling in the room with admirable brevity.

Brenda eyed the three men who were staring at her, looking for all the world like three unruly schoolboys caught in some act of unauthorized mischief. She bit back a smile, worry and amusement warring within her as she stepped forward.

None of them seemed able to make a sound, though they darted quick glances at each other as if to try to spur themselves into coming up with some story to placate her. Shaking her head as if already hearing their arguments, she stalked forward, closing the distance swiftly.

As she reached the young man who had been hiding behind the nurses' desk, she slapped one of the hospital's carry bags up against his chest with slightly more force than necessary. He rocked back a bit, and she paused only just long enough for him to reach up and grasp the bag before she continued forward.

"Now, don't you boys even _try_ to BS me." Her words had Hodgins snapping his mouth suddenly shut, cutting off the words he had been about to utter. "I've been here long enough to recognize a jailbreak when I see one." She let stern amusement color her voice as the blue-eyed imp gaped at her.

She was aware of him turning to follow her progress as she neared the bed and the FBI agent who was watching her with equal amounts of wide-eyed concern, defiance, and determination. A swift glance told her all she needed to know. There was no way that this young man was going to let her dissuade him from following the course his heart had already laid out for him.

She nodded to herself, sparing a brief thought for the young woman she had met only briefly. She fervently hoped the young lady was aware of what a treasure she had in this man.

Tossing a quick glance at the two men who were staring at her with twin sets of blue eyes, she let them know with her eyes that her words were for them as well as for her patient as she reached with brusque purpose for the socks that the FBI agent was holding. "I know nothing I say's gonna stop y'all…" She tugged lightly and the socks left his grip and came to hers. "So…"

_Seeley_, she remembered his name from his file, the uniqueness of it making it easy to recollect and easy for her to use to firmly pin him in place, "_Agent_ _Seeley Booth_, you listen to me..." She rolled up one sock, noting with amusement as she did so that it was just a normal plain white athletic sock this time. "That bag's got extra dressings in it…and antibiotics…." Her next words were nothing less than a direct order. "You're to take one pill twice a day. _Take them_." Her no-nonsense tone was firm.

She glanced up to see the man staring at her, his mouth slightly open as if he had been about to say something before she started speaking. She bulldozed right over the top of whatever he had been about to utter as she reached down, grabbed the jeans over his calf and unceremoniously lifted his leg so she could reach his foot.

With a deftness born of long practice, she encased the long foot with the sock and tapped the other leg. Smiling inwardly as he unconsciously responded to her silent air of command and meekly lifted his other foot, she continued, "It's also got pain pills." She finished putting the other sock on the other foot, reached for the tennis shoes resting on the bed, and glowered up into the agent's shell-shocked face.

Her eyes narrowed warningly. "_Use_ them." Her tone brooked no nonsense and her eyes demanded an answer from him. As she slipped one sneaker over his left foot, she was rewarded with a faint nod in response. She smiled, noting the elusive glimmer of a smile beginning to twinkle in the dark brown eyes that were focused on her.

She slipped the other sneaker onto his other foot. "Rest when you can. Doc Simmons wasn't plannin' on lettin' you go for another few days." She glared sternly into the brown eyes, noting the quick flash of defiance that crossed Booth's face at her words. "Now, I know you got reasons for what you're doin', and I ain't goin' to say that you're wrong…but use some _common sense_, boy…"

Defiance gave way to amused chagrin as she watched. She let herself give a '_humph'_ of approbation at his response and continued her instructions, "Make sure you drink plenty…you lost a lot of blood. And, if you get dizzy or headachy, for God's sake, have enough brains to lay down for a bit."

She let his leg down gently, knowing how sore he probably was, and stared firmly into the brown gaze that was watching her closely. Planting her hands on her hips, she waited for a response, demanding one with her eyes.

Booth peered from under lowered brows, vaguely remembering the virago in front of him from his brief interlude in the emergency room. Despite his worry about his partner, he felt a rising amusement. He smiled faintly and found himself answering with uncharacteristic meekness and respect, "Yes, ma'am."

Brenda felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth as the milk chocolate gaze of the man in front of her tweaked a soft spot she hadn't realized was in her. She found herself patting the jeans-clad knee in front of her as she responded gruffly, "Good. You just take care of yourself, young man, and don't do anything _too_ stupid."

She turned away and pinned the blue-eyed imp with a baleful stare. "And you…" She watched with carefully hidden amusement as the man flinched under her direct gaze before she turned her stare onto the other man in the room, including him in her next words. "I am holding you two responsible. And I don't think I have to tell you how just how badly I _don't_ want to have to help patch him up again."

The taller of the two nodded several times in quick succession, her threat striking home. The other, blue-eyed imp that he was, flashed her a grin that reminded her of why she was glad her own boys were all grown up and on their own.

Hodgins, his always-active sense of the absurd tickled by the way the nurse had handled Booth, couldn't help but grin at her as he nodded, "You got it."

Brenda, with another warning glower, stalked past him. As she reached the door to the room, she turned back around briefly. Eyeing the three as Booth eased himself to stand next to the bed, she dropped her gruff mask and spoke softly. "Good luck to you. Be careful…" Her eyes met Booth's. "And I hope you bring your young lady back safe."

She didn't wait for an answer. Instead, she slipped out of the door and pulled it closed behind her, leaving the three men to stare at its blank surface for a long moment.

Bass broke the silence by zipping Booth's duffle bag shut. The sound was loud in the silence and it jolted both Booth and Hodgins into motion.

"C'mon." Booth's voice was determined and slightly gruff as he started across the room, his cast-encased right arm pressing against his stomach to lessen the pain of his motions.

"My car's in the lot out front," Jack informed the room at large as he shadowed Booth on the way to the door.

He darted ahead, reaching out to open the door for Booth and ignoring the slightly annoyed look he earned for his overly solicitous behavior. As he turned, Hodgins saw Bass pick up both his and Booth's duffle bags, carrying them easily as he followed Booth and Hodgins out of the hospital room.


	37. Chapter 37

_I promise I have not and will not let this story wither and die. It will be finished._

_Real life has gotten in the way of me actually getting enough time to write, so it is slow going. The current status of Bones has not been a great inspiration either...I am having to force myself to imagine that the entire messed up plotline they are making B&B deal with is NOT REAL. Also, I've found that I cannot upload each chapter as I write it because continuity/plot errors are something I cannot stand to read in my own writing...and what I HAD intended to be a fairly short story has gotten a LOT more complex than I had anticipated, just BEGGING for me to screw something up plot-wise._

_No excuse is acceptable, I know...And I apologize for the extended delay. _

_For everyone who has stuck with me this long...THANK YOU. For those of you who have given up on me...I'm sorry!_

_More updates ARE scheduled...really. Still hammering out some technical kinks in chapters 40-49!_

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Cam glanced away from the computer monitor in front of her, a motion at the periphery of the room catching her attention. As she watched, three people entered the large glass doors that led to the Jeffersonian's lab. They made their way purposefully across the lower floor until they were forced to pause at the bottom of the steps.

Even at a distance, Cam could read the impatience on Cullen's face as he glanced from the security card reader to where she was watching him. One of the Jeffersonian's uniformed guards, having noticing the little group, stepped swiftly up to meet them.

A quirk of a smile crossed Cam's face at the beleaguered sigh Cullen gave while he pulled his badge out and flashed it at the approaching guard. The smile widened and she dipped her head slightly to hide it as the man on duty glanced at the shield and then, despite its officiousness, looked up with an inquiring lift of his brows to seek her permission.

Stifling a chuckle, she nodded her approval. At her response, he swiped his own card through the reader, giving the trio leave to ascend the stairs. Cullen's eyes fixed on her, mild annoyance showing in his gaze as he and his companions drew near.

Cam schooled her features into polite interest as she glanced from Cullen, to Tyler and then back to where Tyler's young intern followed a few steps behind the two men. "Good afternoon…" Cam's eyebrows rose in inquiry after the greeting, silently questioning their presence.

"Dr. Saroyan," Cullen nodded politely, his eyes scanning the platform with desultory interest. His gaze skipped over Wendell, who looked up briefly from his own computer.

The young Jeffersonian intern glanced between Cam and their guests before his attention settled back on the test results he had been checking. Though he appeared engrossed in the data, Cam knew from past experience that, despite his apparent disinterest in the conversation, Wendell would be able to recount everything that was said or done on the platform from this moment forward.

Cam blinked into the silence that followed Cullen's greeting, waiting for him to explain his presence. When the silence continued to stretch, she finally asked, "Something I can help you with?" Her own impatience, though tightly restrained, showed in the extreme politeness with which she voiced the question.

Cullen cleared his throat before beginning, and a faint frown began to crease Cam's forehead as she picked up the unaccustomed hesitancy in his voice as he began to speak, "Ah…Booth told us that he managed to smuggle out some important data on a computer card…" He hesitated again slightly before he expounded, "We…need… to take it back to the Hoover."

Cam frowned slightly, Cullen's voice holding a false note that set her inner alarms jangling. Eyeing the man in front of her assessingly, she answered as noncommittally as she could, "I believe Hodgins gave it to Angela. She's working to see if there's anything useful on it.…"

Cullen smiled tightly at her, the expression not quite making it to his eyes. "Could you have her bring it out to us?"

"Sure." Cam nodded, a creeping feeling of misgiving raising its ugly head even as she reached for the phone on the desk near her. "What's going on?"

She lifted the receiver to her ear and then froze as her eyes picked up motion heading towards the platform. Cam watched as Angela appeared as if conjured, her stride swift and purposeful as she headed towards the small group on the platform, her sudden approach a bit too well-timed for Cam's peace of mind.

"Hi." Angela's big sunny smile appeared just a shade too friendly to Cam, and she narrowed her eyes in suspicion at the other woman. She slowly lowered the handset back onto the phone.

As she watched, Angela darted a furtive glance at her before she looked around at the people gathered on the platform. "What's up?" Her question, Cam decided, was also too mild to be normal for Angela, her whole attitude too nonchalant to be anything but faked.

"Ms. Montenegro," Cam could feel her smile turning a bit brittle, and she couldn't quite hide the misgiving in her voice as she spoke, "Deputy Director Cullen is here to get the data card that Hodgins found in Booth's stuff."

The placid look of inquiry on Angela's face intensified before morphing into an expression of vapid surprise that was just too contrived for Cam to believe. Sneaking a quick glance at Cullen and Tyler, she found herself morbidly amused by the fact that the two men were taking Angela's expression at face value.

"Oh?" She watched as Angela drew her hands from the pockets of her lab coat. Pinched between two fingers of her left hand was the data card in question, secure in a tiny evidence bag. "This?" Angela's wide-eyed casualness was excessively innocent.

"Yes, that's it." Cullen reached out an imperious hand, waiting for her to give the card to him.

Cam carefully schooled her expression into an impassive mask and folded her arms across her chest. She could tell that Angela had picked up on her unspoken suspicions by the way the other woman carefully avoided looking at her.

"Oh….um…okay. Here." Meekly, Angela stepped forward and placed the card into Cullen's outstretched hand. As she took a step back from the three FBI agents, Angela's eyes darted to meet Cam's glittering gaze.

Cam caught the tiny shake of her head and the fleeting expression of pleading that Angela flashed her. The look was one that had been used on her before, a look that begged for her silence, and her patience, for just a bit longer.

Cam sighed. She trusted her team implicitly, but there were times that she felt as if her job description should have included '_must be able to herd cats_' in its fine print. She could feel one eyebrow climbing and hastily corralled it. Carefully schooling her features back into nonchalant inquiry, she turned back to Cullen.

"Anything else?" Her voice was cool.

"No. That…" Cullen shifted his weight slightly, appeared indecisive for a split second, and then he shook his head, repeating himself. "No, that should do it." He smiled, not quite meeting Cam's eyes, "Thanks. We'll let you know what we…uh…find."

Cam's gaze hardened, her eyes catching Cullen's and holding them as she folded her arms across her chest. "Yes." She drew the word out slightly, the challenge in her tone unmistakable. "You do that." She let him see that she was aware of his unease, and that she was suspicious of it and of him, and of everything that she knew he wasn't telling her.

For a brief moment, Cam thought Cullen was going to actually put aside his mantle of Deputy Director of the FBI and join the human race. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then a veil dropped over his eyes and he only nodded curtly at her before turning away.

His two shadows followed him closely as he headed back down the steps to the lower floor. Cam watched them, imagining that Cullen could feel the twin holes her eyes were boring into his rigid back the entire long walk across the floor.

As the three exited the lab, walked the length of the glass doors, and then disappeared around the corner, Cam drew in an excessively slow, long, deep breath. Without turning, her eyes firmly focused on the spot where Cullen's suit-clad form had disappeared, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, she spoke quietly and with great care into the mounting silence.

"Start explaining, Ms. Montenegro."

An innocent bystander would have mistaken the quiet calm of the gentle words to be a request, but Angela quailed at Cam's tone, knowing it to be a command. She flashed Wendell a swift glance that made him frown worriedly and leave his computer to move closer to the two women.

As Angela stepped up to her side, Cam finally moved, turning to rest her gaze on Angela's earnest face as the other woman began to explain in a quick rush of urgent words, "Hodgins called…"


	38. Chapter 38

"Okay…so what's the plan?" Hodgins darted a quick glance at the passenger next to him, his blue eyes wide and questioning.

Booth, who was once again scrunched into a vehicle not designed for his over six-foot frame, winced, braced his left hand against the dash, and tucked his right arm as protectively close to his sore body as he could get it. Before he could answer, a voice chimed in from where Bass was wedged at a cock-eyed angle into the miniscule space that was the 1969 MG GT's back seat.

Sitting crosswise of the car with his feet shoved under Hodgins's seat, Bass's wide shoulders were angled to fill the space behind Booth. His voice came from uncomfortably close to the back of Booth's head as he grumbled, "Yeah, Sarge…d'we even _have_ a plan?"

Morosely trying to decide which was more painful, listening to his two companions or cramming his aching body into Hodgins's matchbox of a car, Booth bit back a groan and stifled the pithy retort that was on the tip of his tongue. "I'll think of something." He muttered the words, trying to hide the sense of growing desperation that he was fighting at the thought of Bones being held by Jenkins and his men.

Glancing out the postage-stamp sized windshield, he scanned the vehicles in the hospital parking lot with absent attention as Hodgins pulled out and began making his way towards the exit. "We need to get to the Jeffersonian first." Booth's voice was thoughtful as he glanced distractedly at a vaguely familiar vehicle as they passed it.

Hodgins pulled to a stop at the end of the row as Booth continued to muse aloud, "Find out what information Angela's been able to pull off of that…"

Booth's eyes widened in sudden, if delayed, recognition as Hodgins began to accelerate, pulling the little MG into the road that led to the hospital exit. "STOP!"

At Booth's exclamation, Hodgins's foot slammed down on the brake pedal. The little car jerked to a stop and stalled as his hasty movement caused his left foot to slip off of the clutch. A curse exploded from the occupant of the back as Bass was thrown forward into Booth's seat. "What the hell? Sarge!"

Bass's complaint was made to the empty passenger seat as Booth, who was biting back a pained curse of his own at the jolt, bailed out and made his way back to the vehicle that had caught his attention. Hodgins yanked his door open and followed close behind the agent, leaving Bass to flail and grumble as he tried to figure out how to unfold his tall frame from out of the MG's back seat.

"Booth? What…" Hodgins's voice trailed off into wide-eyed silence as he came to a stop next to the agent and followed the direction of his gaze.

Booth had halted abruptly at the rear bumper of one of the many parked cars in the lot. Both men stared at the vehicle in shared dismay for a long moment, taking in the sight of it listing to one side with a flat front tire, a tire iron and a jack resting on the ground next to it.

Hodgins's eyes danced across the items, a faint frown beginning to form between his brows. Behind them, Bass finally managed to extricate himself from the small vehicle. He stepped up to stand next to them, his querulous gaze darting from the Jeffersonian's entomologist to the utterly still figure of his former commander.

"Uh…Sarge?" Bass's confusion was clear.

Hodgins darted him a swift glance and explained succinctly, "That's Dr. Brennan's car."

"They took her from _here_…" Booth's voice was grim as he turned to meet David's eyes. He found his own anger and fears, as well as his own suspicions, dwelling in the depths of the younger man's blue gaze.

Booth turned back to the vehicle. His dark eyes scanned the scene before him, a tic in his jaw beginning to jump as he bit off the urge to curse. He stepped forward, intending to lower himself to examine the flattened tire. A cursory glance through the window halted him in his tracks and he involuntarily reached for the door handle.

"Booth…wait…" Before his fingers could touch the latch, both his own training and Hodgins's voice stopped the motion, and he yanked his hand back with a growl of frustration.

He turned and watched as Hodgins darted back to his own car and ducked into the door that Booth and Bass had left hanging open. He rummaged around under the passenger seat and withdrew an opened, half-empty box of latex gloves. He shoved the box into Bass's hands and yanked two pairs out.

He met Booth's querulous eyebrow with a lift of one shoulder and a slight quirk to his lips. "Never know when you might need 'em…" He explained off-handedly as he tossed the second pair to Booth and began to pull a pair on himself.

While snapping the gloves in place, Hodgins stepped carefully over the jack and tire iron. He turned and crouched, careful not to disturb anything as he dropped to one knee to peer closely at the tire and the surrounding area. He reached out and gently probed the edge of the gash in the tire.

"This has been cut." He flicked a quick, unhappy glance up to the two FBI agents, apologetic as he was forced to make a qualified deduction, unconfirmed by any scientific testing, "I won't know for certain without doing some tests, but my guess would be a big knife, something with a blade about two inches wide and maybe six or seven long." He shook his head, hating that he couldn't be more precise.

As his fingers dragged over the cut, they loosened a couple of small particles that fell to the ground. Curiously, he picked one up and brought it up to his eyes to scrutinize it more closely. "Hmmm..." He glanced back up to the other two men as he added, "Looks like it might have had a serrated edge."

Booth and Bass exchanged a quick glance before Booth spoke quietly, "Sounds like a Ka-bar."

Hodgins paused for a moment, his eyes growing distant as he mentally pictured the suggested knife. The mental image and the damage to the tire matched well enough for him to acknowledge the possibility, "Yeah. That would be real close."

"Sounds about right for bunch of paramilitary wannabes," Bass's voice held a note of grim disgust.

Booth nodded shortly in agreement and then pinched one glove in his left hand, folding it over and using it to lift the handle of the car door. Reaching inside, he carefully moved the jacket that had been tossed on the passenger seat, revealing Bones's purse and the set of car keys next to it.

Unseen by the two men behind him, his eyes filled with bleak rage as he stared blindly down at the small silver skull hooked to the keychain. Reaching out, Booth picked up the keys with his left hand, heedless of the possible contamination of evidence. He clenched his fist around the small bits of metal as Hodgins's voice sounded behind him.

"Look…".Hodgins pulled a piece of fabric from the mechanism of the jack and held it up. Booth drew in a deep, calming breath before he turned to glance down at the crouching entomologist.

His eyes narrowed in recognition as he glanced at the fabric. "It's a piece of Bones's shirt."

Hodgins glanced speculatively at him, a slight urge to tease the agent for knowing exactly what Dr. Brennan had been wearing that day niggling at him. He decided to let the prime opportunity pass as a hint of the tight control Booth was exercising showed in his tone and in the fine lines of tension around his eyes.

Nodding, Hodgins raised an inquiring eyebrow. "So," he asked, "do we wait for a team…?"

"No." With grim decisiveness, Booth interrupted him, shoving his hand into his pocket before turning back to the car.

He leaned into the vehicle, ignoring his body's shout of protest, and locked the driver's side door with an impatient slap of his hand. He stepped back, locking the passenger side as well before he slammed the door shut. His hand crept, unbidden, back into the pocket of his jeans, fingers touching the silver skull.

Hodgins cocked his head inquiringly at him for a moment before he nodded understanding. He carefully replaced the small scrap of fabric where he'd found it and stood, hearing his knees crack and complain. "Okay…"

His words broke off abruptly as a slight smudge on the edge of the wheel-well caught his ever-attentive eye. He bent down, eyeing the spot carefully before reaching out with one finger to touch it. He pulled his hand back and eyed the faint tinge of color that came away on his glove with dismay. "Oh, man…"

His low, unhappy mutter earned him Booth's full attention. "What?"

Hodgins flicked a quick glance up to meet Booth's eyes. For a moment, he hesitated, his lips compressed around the words that he didn't want to say, knowing the worry they would cause. Then he sighed and presented his stained finger. "Blood." The succinct one-word explanation brought the expected reaction from the FBI agent.

Booth's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing in repressed anger as his hand clenched into an involuntary fist around the keychain. The metal pressed its imprint into his palm and his voice, when he spoke, was filled with the promise of grim retribution. "Let's go." He spun on his heel and pushed past Bass, heading swiftly towards Hodgins's idling car.

Hodgins, his own eyes holding an equal amount of banked fury and concern, stepped over the jack and tire iron, stripping the latex gloves off of his hands with jerky motions. Bass turned and hurried after them both, hurriedly folding himself into the back seat once again while Booth waited with tightly controlled impatience.

Hodgins slid behind the wheel with a swift economy of motion and Booth's door wasn't entirely closed before the squeal of the tires echoed in the hospital parking lot.


	39. Chapter 39

The sudden cessation of movement beneath her jolted Brennan out of the light doze she had fallen into and she blinked blearily. Finding herself surrounded by the same darkness she had awakened to earlier, she sighed and shifted, trying to ease a gnawing ache in her bound arms. She winced, her right shoulder complaining at having borne the brunt of the bumps and jolts of the road beneath the vehicle.

She drew in shallow breaths, trying to clear her head. Her stomach roiled and a faint, but persistent, headache warned her that she was undoubtedly breathing in more of the car's exhaust than was healthy. Not that she had a choice; she scowled into the blackness, fuzzily indignant at that simple fact.

The crunch of gravel outside her prison and the snick of a key in the lock warned her moments before the trunk lid was yanked up. She flinched and squinted blearily up into the bright afternoon sun, unable to see more than a looming shadow backlight by the too-bright light.

"Okay, c'mon outta there," The gruff command came from the man casting the shadow and Brennan scowled up at him in response, her jaw set and her chin jutting at an angry angle, indignant over her treatment. She made no move to try and climb out of the car, stubbornly deciding that she wasn't going to make anything easier for her captors. Her meager attempt at passive defiance was cut short as she started coughing reflexively, the fresh air outside of the trunk hitting her lungs and adding to her dizziness.

Her captor took offense at her less than enthusiastic response to his directive. With a grunt that easily conveyed his annoyance, he reached down and grabbed her upper arm. With a yank that she felt screaming through the cramped muscles in her shoulder and back, he pulled her to sit upright.

Brennan toyed with the idea of resisting despite knowing that she was at a great disadvantage with her hands tied behind her. After only a token twitch, she sighed, pragmatically deciding that standing on her own two feet would be highly preferable to her current cramped position. She pulled herself to her knees, letting the oaf in front of her guide her motion as her head swam. Vaguely she was aware of someone approaching the vehicle, the crunch of gravel underfoot heralding the new presence.

"Roberts, what's taking so damned long?" The new voice was deep, the angry timbre of it growing louder as Brennan lifted her gaze and glanced to her right. Still squinting at the brightness of the afternoon sun after being imprisoned in darkness, Brennan got a quick first impression of the new person as a big man with wide shoulders and a stocky, muscular build.

The man in front of her took his attention away from her long enough to shoot the newcomer an irritated glance. "Impatient much, Vargas?"

The grip on her arm eased so that it was mostly supportive as he turned and directed his sarcastic answer towards the newcomer. As he spoke, Brennan darted a quick look back at the man called Roberts, her eyes focusing more easily now. Her captor was less intimidating, younger and slightly shorter than the other man, his brown hair cut short enough that the skin of his scalp showed through above his ears.

Vargas gave a deep growl of irritation as he stepped up to stand next to Roberts. His gaze fixed on Brennan's and she felt a shiver of fear run through her at the hatred that smoldered in the man's one dark brown eye. The other eye was hidden, covered by a large white square of gauze that was taped in place. A reddish discoloration stained the material closest to the man's nose and bruising streaked out from under the patch of white to darken the man's cheekbone.

As her eyes rapidly catalogued other facial injuries – a swollen, off-kilter nose, puffy split lips, and a painfully blackened bruise along the man's jaw line - Brennan had a sudden flash of memory. Recalling Booth's comment to Bass about "getting some of his own back", she realized that Vargas was probably the person who had received the brunt of her partner's fury.

An involuntary cry was wrenched from her as Vargas suddenly reached out and grabbed Brennan's pony-tail. He yanked her forward, the raised edge of the car trunk digging painfully into the front muscles of her thighs and her arms complaining bitterly once again as the motion ripped her from Robert's grip and left her leaning precariously forward out of the vehicle's trunk.

Brennan felt involuntary tears of anger and pain sting behind her eyes even as she met the one-eyed glare with a defiant, narrow-eyed glower. As Vargas's rank breath ghosted over her face, he pulled his mouth into an angry sneer and she caught sight of a broken tooth that corresponded with the large bruise along his jaw. A small surge of pride at Booth's prowess flickered through her.

"So, you're that FBI bastard's bitch?" From inches away, the man snarled the words into her face, his breath hot as his eye drilled into her wide blue-eyed stare.

Not considering the consequences, Brennan snapped back, "And you must be the incompetent ignoramus Booth escaped from…"

The brown eye widened, and then narrowed in sudden rage. A snarl broke from her assailant and Brennan had only a split second to regret her comeback before a heavy hand cracked against her left cheek.

Stars exploded in her vision and a reflexive cry escaped her. She felt the tickling ooze of blood trail down her cheek as the blow reopened the small cut she had received when her face had hit her car's wheel well. The knot on the back of her head and the swelling behind her ear from the original blows that had rendered her unconscious chimed in ruthlessly, joining with the pain in her cheek.

Acknowledging the trio of pains with only a slight wince, Brennan brought her eyes back to meet the brown glower and, despite the ringing in her ears, she tilted a defiant chin upwards. With a snarl, Vargas drew back, his intent clear as he clenched a raised fist.

"Vargas!"

The precisely snapped word came from behind both men even as Roberts reached out to grab Vargas's wrist in an attempt to stop the second blow. His precaution proved unnecessary as both men froze at the sound of the voice.

His eye gleaming with hatred, Vargas shuddered once and looked as if he was briefly considering continuing his motion but the voice from behind him spoke again, this time closer and with an icily dangerous deliberation, "Stand. Down."

Vargas yanked his arm from Roberts grip, released Brennan's hair, and pivoted to shoot the newcomer a furious glower. Through eyes that were watering from the first blow, Brennan sized up her benefactor.

Taller than either Vargas or Roberts, the man behind them was standing hip-shot and relaxed, his eyes fixed intently on his minion. Black hair, shot through with steely grey and cut in the same military style as Roberts's, topped a lean face whose almost black eyes were drilling holes through the other man.

Vargas shuffled his feet, looking indecisive for a moment before he backed down, taking a physical step back and away from the vehicle. "Keane." The low mutter was both an acknowledgement and a reluctant capitulation.

Keane didn't take his eyes off of Vargas even as he voiced his commands, "Roberts, take her to the small room behind the office. I want either you or Powell outside the door at all times."

"Yessir." Roberts's voice was brisk. Without another glance at Vargas, he reached out again and grasped Brennan's upper arms.

She didn't resist the pressure this time as he helped her gain her feet. The thought of cracking her captor across the jaw with her knee and making a run for it flitted through her mind. Almost immediately, she bid it a fond farewell, knowing that, with her hands bound behind her, the action would be worse than futile.

She stood and waited as Roberts transferred his grip to her waist, lifting her out of the trunk and setting her almost gently down on the graveled parking area. She staggered bit, thrown off balance by the uncomfortable position of her arms and the lingering dizziness from Vargas's blow. Surprising her, Roberts rested a hand on her shoulder to steady her and let her stand still for a moment.

She caught him watching Keane and Vargas out of the corner of his eye as the two men took several steps away. A low-voiced, one-sided conversation had begun, Vargas seething and looking mutinous while Keane's narrowed eyes and softly spoken denunciation kept him in place.

She took the opportunity to glance around, taking careful stock of her surroundings. She frowned as she scanned the area, assessing the graveled lot the car was parked in, the buildings, and the green fields and wooded area that surrounded the buildings with a quick glance. She raised one brow in bemusement as she gave the buildings a closer look.

They were old, looking as if they had seen better days many years ago. To her left was a large area enclosed on three sides and covered. The space was graveled and held three large trucks, pointed nose-out as if ready to drive away. From the looks of the rust on the fenders and the flattened tires on two of the vehicles, she surmised that they were not going to be moving anytime soon. A two-bay garage was attached to the covered area, the lowered bay doors hiding whatever the interior contained.

She glanced to the buildings in front of her, noting the small building that had the look of an office first. Four concrete bumpers delineated parking spaces in front of the building and three windows looked out onto the parking lot, the gleam of a bare light bulb peeking out of the center window. A door at the end of the building stood partially open, leading out to a large concrete slab that was flanked on two sides by what looked like concrete mixers. In front of the mixers stood strange square metal apparatus that looked to Brennen's curious eye like large square funnels with spouts that nosed into the mixers' gaping openings.

A larger building stood at the back side of the slab, a large sliding door leading into its darkened two-story high interior. Brennan glanced upwards, eyeing the contraption above the building with a curious tilt to her head. A teepee of pipes led upwards from the roof of the building to converge on a central tower. Brennan measured it with a discerning eye, absentmindedly gauging it to be a little over a hundred feet tall.

To the right of the concrete pad, beyond the egg-shaped bulk of the right-hand concrete mixer, the building jogged back a bit, creating a large nook where a rotund white metal tank squatted. Brennan eyed the large pipes that ran from the tank to disappear into the building behind it. Intersected by lever-action ball valve connectors, they led Brennan to deduce that the tank probably held a liquid of some sort.

The building continued back behind the white tank to lead into a roofed area that looked much like the covered bays where the decrepit old trucks were parked. At first glance, it looked as if it were designed to be another parking area but Brennan narrowed her eyes thoughtfully as she noted piping that ran across the ceiling of the covered space and the thick rubber hoses that dangled fourteen feet above the concrete pavement beneath the roof.

"Yo! Keane!" The shout drew her attention away from her contemplation of the strange machinery and made her aware of the bucolic quiet that otherwise surrounded the area. Brennan cocked an ear, listening carefully even as the man confronting Vargas turned in response to the shout. Very faintly in the distance, she could hear a whisper of sound that made her think that there was a well-traveled road somewhere beyond the wooded hills that rolled away behind the buildings.

A head poked out of the front window of the low building, the shouter's sandy brown hair ruffled by the light breeze that was kicking up small dust-devils on the concrete pad. "Sarge wants you on the bitch-box."

The shouted message received a raised hand in acknowledgment and Keane began walking away from them. His voice, full of annoyance, drifted back to Brennan and her guard, "You waiting for an engraved invitation, Roberts?"

Roberts twitched. "No, sir." Once again he grasped Brennan's arm and began to tug her towards the low building, following Keane's more determined strides.

As they passed Vargas, Brennan could feel the heat of the man's gaze follow her for long moments. Her ears picked up the distinctive sounds as the big man turned away with a gruffly muttered incoherency and began walking with angry determination towards the large bay doors that Brennan had decided were part of a garage.

Brennan stumbled slightly as she followed Roberts, feeling him steady her with an impersonal, but surprisingly supportive touch. She sighed, eyeing the building that was drawing near, and started thinking about how to convince him to remove her bindings even as she set her mind to working on a possible escape.


	40. Chapter 40

The chirp of the security system brought three pairs of eyes up to rest on the people who were ascending the stairs to the forensics platform. Hodgins smiled at Cam, Angela, and Wendell as he led the small procession. The worried shadows in his blue eyes were only slightly eased by the expression as he stepped aside to let Booth move in front of him.

Bass paused next to Hodgins as Cam and Angela converged unerringly on Booth. Wendell strolled over more slowly, moving to stand at Hodgins's right, watching Booth's forbearing expression with some amusement as the two women closed in on him.

"Seeley…" Cam's voice was steely with censure as she narrowed her eyes and stared up at Booth.

"Camille…" Booth answered in the same vein. He straightened up, his back taking on the rigidly precise stance of someone hiding injuries as his dark eyes challenged her to continue the reprimand that was hovering between them.

Cam searched his eyes carefully before shaking her head and sighing instead of continuing her protest. She nodded slightly, acknowledging the fact that nothing could be said to change the rock-solid resolve she could see in his expression. She let a small smile touch her lips even as her worried eyes scanned his features, noting every line of fatigue and pain that he was trying to hide.

"Okay, big guy." She leaned in to give him a gentle hug, taking care not to jostle him with the motion. "We'll play it your way this time."

She felt his answering squeeze as he wrapped his good arm around her and, after taking a second to reassure herself with the warm strength of him, she leaned back to pin him with a look that was half-serious and half-teasing. "Just don't be _too_ stupid about it, okay?" Her words clearly implied that she already expected him to be stupid and she was just admonishing him to keep it to a minimum.

A wry twist to his lips was her only answer before Angela moved in to stand next to them both. With gentle, but proprietary hands, she reached up to cup Booth's cheeks, turning his head with careful pressure so he had no choice but to face her.

She ignored the lift of his eyebrow at her actions, studying his face with the same intensity that Cam had used. Unlike Cam, Angela ignored the indicators of his physical injuries and addressed the shadows that lingered deep in his eyes instead. "We'll find her, Booth."

Booth reached up with his left hand to gently grip Angela's, squeezing slightly as he moved it down from his cheek. The faint smile he gave her didn't quite reach his eyes even though he nodded acceptance of her reassurance.

Hodgins cleared his throat loudly, breaking into the silence and bringing five sets of eyes to rest on him. He moved forward, unceremoniously thrusting a bag with the hospital logo towards Angela. "Here, you're in charge of that…"

He ignored her quizzical glance as she dropped Booth's hand and opened the bag to peer curiously inside. Her eyes widened in understanding as she noted the two pill bottles and the other medical paraphernalia. She nodded even as Jack turned a piercing blue gaze onto his boss for a moment, a fire of defiance starting to smolder in the cerulean depths of his eyes. "It's time to get to work if we're going to find Dr. B."

Cam narrowed one eye at the entomologist as a brief warning for his belligerent tone before she relented and nodded an affirmative. "Right." She glanced at the small group surrounding her, and then turned a waiting gaze onto Booth. "It's your ballgame, Booth."

Booth's eyes warmed as she ceded control of her people over to him. "Thanks, Cam." He turned to Hodgins decisively, "I need to know everything we've got so far…"

Standing near the platform rail, Bass watched the team as they fell into a huddle, trading information and quips as naturally as breathing. He smiled, a slight wistfulness crossing his features as he noted the easy camaraderie between the tightly-knit group of people.

Once again, he found himself seeing them as a fiercely loyal, if somewhat dysfunctional, family. Shaking his head at his own whimsy, he moved forward, carefully insinuating himself into the group, hoping that they would be able to bring their missing member home safely.


	41. Chapter 41

The quiet hum of dozens of computers filled the air with a faint electric buzz that could be felt almost more than it could be heard. The two men who entered the room paid the noise little attention, their focus falling quickly on a young man whose fingers were currently adding to the sounds in the room as they moved swiftly across a keyboard.

Standing near him, her eyes following the progress of the information on the computer display, Amanda glanced up at their entrance. She gave Tyler a small smile of welcome and nodded respectfully to Cullen as they drew near.

"So? What do we have?" Cullen's voice was brusque as he stepped up to stand next to the technician.

The young man darted a quick glance up at Cullen before returning his attention to the screen in front of him. "Very little, sir." His voice held a note of apology that had Cullen and Tyler both frowning at him. "I've been working on this since Agent Cason brought the card down to me, but…" His voice trailed off into a shrug.

"Okay," Cullen's voice was carefully even, "So, is there _anything_?"

"Well…some of the data looks like it might have been accounting documents."

"_Might_ have been?" Cullen bit off each word.

"Yes, sir. The file extensions match a popular accounting software." The tech scrolled down the screen, manipulating the data to illustrate as he spoke.

He quit moving the mouse and turned to face Cullen's inquisitive stare. With a pained shrug, he continued mildly, "But the data has been corrupted. I've got a couple of scraps of something that looks like an inventory."

Cullen scowled down at him for a long moment before turning his frown on Tyler. "I thought your man said that he had information that would put Jenkins' group away?"

Frustration sat heavily on Tyler's features as he met Cullen's scowl with one of his own. "That's what he told us." His voice was low, grave with disappointment as he sighed.

The tech glanced between them, and then took the opportunity as they both stared glumly at the computer monitor to speak, his voice hesitant as he offered, "He probably _did_ have something…there _was_ a lot of data on the card…"

He faltered for a moment as two sets of eyes speared him with identical narrow-eyed glowers. He continued in a rush, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, "But…from the looks of what I've got here, the card was damaged or erased somehow. I can't tell exactly, but whatever happened, it's corrupted a most of the remaining information."

He turned away quickly, unwilling to continue to meet the unhappy frowns that greeted his declaration. He took refuge in the technology in front of him as he started clicking with the mouse that sat on the desk in front of him.

"See…here and here…" He pointed at an incomprehensible graphic on the screen in front of him, obviously able to read the colors as easily as other people could read a map. "There _were_ files here, but they've been corrupted somehow. And I can tell there was data in these sectors of the card that are empty now. And these sectors can't even be written to anymore…suggesting that there was some sort of actual physical damage…"

"Damnit!"

The tech flinched as the word exploded from behind him. He didn't turn, not wanting to find out which of the two men was the source of the furious curse. Quickly, he offered, "I'll keep trying, though. Maybe I can get some of the corrupted files to come clean enough to pull something…" His voice trailed off as he realized that neither man was listening to him anymore.

He turned slightly in his chair to watch as the two suit-clad backs disappeared out the door to his office, trailed more slowly by Agent Cason. She gave him an apologetic look of commiseration and a sympathetic eye-roll before she followed her boss through the door. With a sigh, the tech turned back around, focusing on the screen in front of him as he restarted his futile attempt to pull information from the bad sectors of the damaged data card.


	42. Chapter 42

"Damn…" Angela's voice was soft but thick with frustration as she spoke into the silence of her office.

"What's wrong, Ange?" Hodgins was careful to keep his voice quiet as he stood behind her, watching her as she attempted to manipulate the data on the computer in front of her.

Behind them both, Booth stirred quietly. He levered himself up and swung his feet over the edge of the low couch on which he had been resting. He paused for a moment, his head tipped back against the cushions as he conducted a weary self-diagnosis and convinced his bruised body that, yes, it _was_ required to respond to his wishes. He forced himself to his feet and moved closer to the desk that Angela and Hodgins were using.

Hodgins glanced up at the other man as he drew near. His blue eyes met Booth's briefly, seeing his own worry reflected in the brown depths of the FBI agent's gaze. The past few hours had been rough on the whole crew as they attempted to piece together all the myriad bits of evidence they had gleaned from the items from the New York office and from the card Angela had copied for Cullen.

Having exhausted their own supply of evidence to sift through, Wendell and Cam had finally taken their leave of the Jeffersonian for a short time, promising to return with food and drink for everyone. Bass, with some reluctance, had taken the opportunity to stage a reconnaissance mission on the Hoover, determined to see if there had been any new developments and promising to return with as much information as he could find.

After his departure, Angela, with unerring instincts, had cornered a furtively wilting Booth. With infinite patience, she had bullied him into resting on the low couch in her office. Giving in despite his protests, Booth had finally let her coerce him into taking a pain pill as well and had slipped into a fitful doze.

Left to their own devices, Hodgins and Angela had poured over all of the data that the team had been able to pull from the evidence at hand. With painstaking diligence, the two were sifting through the information, trying to get a lead on Jenkins and his men.

Booth slipped up to stand quietly next to where Jack hovered behind Angela, his eyes scanning the computer screen over her shoulder. His brow furrowed as he scanned the contents of the multiple windows Angela had open. Some screens made sense to him, accounting sheets, business inventories among them. However, a few others were jumbled masses of Latin words and chemical compounds that made him scowl in confusion.

"I hate this…" Angela's voice was tight, sounding as if she was grinding the words out from between clenched teeth as she thumped a fist down on the desk top in frustration.

"What?" Hodgins asked quietly. He was as aggravated as she was, but knew better than to let it show in his voice at the moment.

"Look," Angela's words began slowly, but they started coming faster as her irritation mounted, "I'm good at hacking into things. I'm good at manipulating files. But…all these variables… All this information…this card's got business files and tax information and calendars and inventories… Then there's Wendell's findings… and Cam's reports… and then we have _your_ data, Jack…chemicals and compounds and…and…and…_stuff_!" Angela huffed, scowling.

"I'm trying to make it all work together…to make sense… but…I'm just not good enough at…at…making it…mesh!" She threw up her hands with a growl of frustration that ended in a wail of despairing anguish, "I'm not Zack!"

A warm hand fell on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze, and Angela, thinking that it was Hodgins, sighed and turned her head. Her eyes widened as she realized that Booth had moved up to stand on her right.

His full concentration appeared to be on the screen in front of her, his eyes scanning the data with a faint frown, but the comforting weight on her shoulder was his hand. As she gazed up at him, touched by the gesture, he glanced down. There was a wry lift to the faint smile that crossed his features as he quietly stated, "Nobody's Zack, Angela."

The smile faded. Booth's face underwent a rapid-fire change of expressions as he held an internal debate with himself. Finally, his expression settled into a look of determination that hardened his eyes and set his jaw. The fingers on her shoulder squeezed once more and then left her with an absent pat as he glanced around and reached for a nearby stool.

Hodgins, watching him carefully, saw him wince and abort the motion as it pulled at stitches and sore muscles. With an impatient chuff, Hodgins shoved the stool closer to the desk with a foot, saving Booth the effort of moving it himself. When Booth tried to shoot him an annoyed frown at the implication that he was too hurt to move the small piece of furniture, Hodgins scowled right back at him.

Only half-joking, Hodgins muttered darkly, "You bust a stitch, G-man, and ole' Nurse Brenda'll have _my_ hide, remember?"

Booth's frown eased a bit and he shook his head in rueful acknowledgement and shared trepidation. Taking a cue from the entomologist, he decided to use his foot to shove the stool closer to Angela. Gingerly lowering himself to the seat, he ignored the complaint his stomach and ribs made at the movement.

More than a little uneasy at how easily Booth had capitulated to his coddling, Hodgins moved to stand on Angela's left while Booth spoke quietly, "Ok, Angela…let's try something…different. Can you…"

Booth stopped speaking for a moment, frowning in concentration as he mentally worked out what he wanted to do before he continued in a rush, "Can you get all the information we've gathered so far," He raised his gaze to meet Angela's questioning eyes. "Put a copy of all of it, every scrap, into a folder or file or something?"

"Uh…well…yeah…" Angela frowned in confusion, her voice picking up a note of condescension at the simplicity of his request, "Of course." She rolled her eyes at him with a faintly disdainful grin, "That's _easy_."

As she spoke, she started to suit action to words, not understanding why he wanted her to do it, but trusting him to have a good reason. Booth watched the rapid flick of the mouse pointer and the quick flash of layer upon layer of screens as they cascaded across the display in response to her motions.

"Ok." With a final click, and ignoring the computer that was still flashing information as it tried to catch up with her commands, Angela turned expectant eyes on him. Her smile grew a bit smug as she turned to raise a challenging eyebrow at him, "Now what?"

"That's _everything_?" Booth stressed the word, appearing a little shell-shocked at the speed with which she had complied with his request even as the computer _bleeped_ contentedly and the screen quit flickering.

"Yeah, sweetie, every single bit and byte," She grinned at his expression, her smile taking the edge out of her snarky retort. His focus on the screen wavered slightly, just enough for Angela to catch the quick glint of amusement in his eyes as they flicked briefly to hers.

"Okay then," Booth frowned briefly at the screen, formulating his next request. "Now, do whatever it is you have to do to make that…" A dismissive flip of his hand towards the computer screen indicated the composite file she had just created. "Make it so somebody else can get into it from…out there…"

"Out there?" She frowned at him for a moment, confused. When Booth shot her a pained look that was a patently transparent request for her to read his mind, she ventured a guess, "You want someone to be able to remotely access the file?"

Booth hesitated for a fraction of a moment as the FBI agent within warred with the trusting friend. Then, the look of determination in his eyes hardened, "Yeah…" He hesitated again before he let the FBI agent hedge, "But _only_ that file."

Angela raised one dubious eyebrow at him, but refrained from asking the question that was on the tip of her tongue. "Oo-kay…" She drew the word out, a faint frown creasing her brow.

Hodgins moved around to stand at the front corner of the desk where he could eye both Angela and Booth questioningly. Booth studiously ignored him and reached for the telephone on the desk. Angela lifted her eyes briefly, met the confused question in Jack's eyes with one of her own, gave him a little one-shouldered shrug and then proceeded to do what Booth had asked her to do.

Booth watched her manipulate the computer as he tucked the receiver between his ear and shoulder and began dialing the phone with his left hand. He ignored the inquiring looks both Angela and Hodgins were directing at him and waited for the phone to quit ringing on the other end.

Faintly, the two members of the Jeffersonian team could hear a voice on the other end speak, but Booth had the phone pressed too tightly to his ear for the words to be intelligible. Booth's own voice was quiet as he identified himself. "Hey. It's Booth."

Hodgins watched as a faint smile played along the line of the FBI agent's mouth as he listened for a second before interrupting the other speaker. "Look. We need your help. Yeah. It's important…real important. NO!" Angela and Hodgins both flinched at the sudden emphatic note that entered Booth's voice.

Unashamedly trying to listen in, Angela leaned closer, frowning as something in the tone of the voice on the other end of the phone struck her as familiar. She darted a quick glance up at Hodgins and the look on her face brought him back around the edge of the desk, his eyes trying to see the numbers displayed on the telephone's digital screen.

"No!" Booth was scowling fiercely as he repeated himself. "Stay put."

The tone of his voice eased, "You can help us just fine from there. D'you still have that laptop I gave you?" Booth paused, listening to the response on the other end. "Great. Look, I need you to dial into the Jeffersonian's computers…yeah…no." He sighed, "Oh, yeah...right. I know…uh…"

Booth hesitated, and then sighed, his broad shoulders slumping in resigned defeat, "Use mine." Booth flicked a sheepish glance up at both Angela and Hodgins, and then dipped his head slightly as, in a vain attempt to keep his words private, he muttered into the phone, "B-o-n-e-s-2-1-6-2-0-0-2."

Angela smirked as Booth revealed his password, recognizing Parker's birthday in the string of numbers that followed the tell-tale letters. She raised her eyes to meet the matching amusement in Hodgins's face. She glanced back down at Booth as he sighed again, a flush rising in his cheeks under her gaze as her smile widened.

"Look…just…" Gritting his teeth in exasperation, Booth studiously avoided their eyes as he growled, "Za-ack…I really _don't_ need a lecture on password security right now…" The annoyance in his voice climbed another notch as he interrupted the speaker at the other end with a blunt directive, "Just dial into the damn computer already, Zack. Bones has been kidnapped and we need your help to find her."

Trading swift glances of wide-eyed astonishment as Booth revealed the identity of the person he was contacting, Hodgins and Angela quickly focused on Booth. The agent frowned slightly as he listened to the sudden flurry of activity with which Zack had greeted his announcement.

Hodgins scowled, unhappy not knowing what was going on at the other end of the phone line. With an impatient huff, he moved with rapid decision. Booth's eyes narrowed at Hodgins as the other man reached out and punched the speaker button on the telephone, but he didn't object. Instead, he gently replaced the receiver and waited.

As the speakerphone engaged, the room was filled with the sound of the rapid-fire clicking of the keyboard on the other end of the line. Angela's eyes grew misty as Zack's voice filled the room a moment later.

"Okay, I'm in. Hmmm…"

As Zack's voice trailed off into a low murmur, Jack met Angela's gaze, a slow grin creeping across his features as he pictured the thoughtful frown that was no doubt gracing the younger man's face as he perused the data.

Booth glanced between them, a slight smile hovering on his own face as he watched them trade nostalgic smiles. A pang of regret for the circumstances that kept the three friends apart, almost as irritating as the constant pain in his side, shot through him as he leaned forward to rest an elbow against the desktop.

"Anything, Zack?" Booth knew his impatience would bring nothing but an irritated rejoinder from the young man, but was unable to stop himself from asking.

A huff of exasperation, right on cue, could be heard over the machine-gun clicking of the laptop's keys. "Booth, I haven't had sufficient time to…"

Angela poked Booth in the shoulder remonstratively as she interrupted Zack, "Hey, don't let him get to you, Zack…" She smiled sweetly at the injured look the agent shot her.

"Angela?" Surprise and pleasure could be heard in Zack's voice and the click of the keyboard slowed considerably.

"Yeah," Hodgins answered for Angie, a grin still on his face, "And me."

"Oh!" There was a long, pregnant pause and the keyboard noise stopped abruptly. "It's…um…good…uh…to hear from…er…you." Zack's voice suddenly turned tense and slightly wary.

Hodgins's grin widened as he shot a glance towards Booth. He met the knowing glint in the brown eyes that had locked on him. He eyed the wry twist of a smile that Booth was giving him, and an edge of laughter entered his voice as he reassured Zack, "It's ok, Zack. I think Booth already knows that I consult with you on a lot of our cases."

Booth rolled his eyes and sighed while nodding. He'd known for quite a while that the two friends were in contact quite often concerning cases that should, technically, never have been discussed. He pointedly ignored the soft smile Angela gave him, but didn't pull his hand away when she patted the back of it in silent gratitude for his blind eye.

"Oh." Zack paused briefly, assimilating that fact before he started speaking quickly, his mind already refocused on the data in front of him. "Ok. Ammonium nitrate…monocalcium phosphate…trace amounts of ethylamine and isopropylamine salts…" Everyone could hear the thoughtful frown in his voice.

Booth and Angela's eyes met, identical befuddled expressions colliding as they listened to the grocery list of chemical compounds being reeled off by Zack's musing. Unlike the two of them, Hodgins was nodding with each syllable.

"Right. Right. And there's a strong concentration of glyphosate and dimethyl bipyridinium dichloride…" Hodgins moved around the desk so that he could access the computer in front of Angela.

"Yeah…" Zack's voice was thoughtful, "I see that…"

Angela was forced to lean back as Jack grabbed the mouse and began clicking away at the icons on the screen. "I also found methylchlorophenoxypropionic acid, but I don't think…"

Tuning out the incomprehensible chemical compounds that were being traded back and forth between the two scientists, Angela glanced at Booth, noting the tense lines creasing the corners of his eyes and mouth even as his eyes started to glaze over in response to the tech-speak.

She rose from her seat, and Jack dropped absentmindedly into it, reaching for the keyboard, completely oblivious to both her and Booth as he listened to Zack's response. Angela dropped her hand on Booth's shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze to gain his attention.

When his brown eyes lifted to hers inquiringly, she spoke softly, "C'mon. Let these two speak geek for a while." When he hesitated, she narrowed her eyes at him in warning and her tone dared him to object. "You're due for an antibiotic anyway, and we can see if anyone's back with the food yet…"

Booth narrowed one eye at her in reproach at her obvious mothering, but sighed and stood up without further comment. Angela frowned at the ginger way he straightened, and then sighed in exasperation as she watched him visibly suppress the pain and force his battered body to square up. He strode past her to the door, leaving her to follow him as if exiting the room had been his intention all along.

He reached the door first and, ever the gentleman, used his left hand to push the door open and hold it for Angela. He tucked his casted arm in tight against the ache in his stomach, refusing to let his discomfort show as he waited for her to close the distance between them.

"Stubborn…hard-headed…mule-brained…" Booth grinned stoically at her as she sailed past him, muttering under her breath. A low chuckle escaped him as her final epithet was left to float on the air behind her. "Male."


	43. Chapter 43

Cullen leaned back in his chair and scowled across his desk at the SAIC from the New York office. Tyler frowned heavily back at him, his expression stubborn as he continued their argument, "Without the original time-stamped data, we don't have a chance of nailing Jenkins. There's no way we can entertain the idea of actually handing it over to them."

"Look, Mark," Cullen's voice was tired but his tense frustration was evident in the way he bit off each word, "My tech is telling me that the card is pretty much useless anyway. He says the damage is too extensive and the data that he can manage to extract has no value to us…" He snorted slightly, "Unless we can manage to get Jenkins on tax evasion…"

Tyler's eyes widened. "Did he find something…" he began hopefully.

Cullen interrupted him with an impatient huff, "That was a _joke_, Tyler." He sighed, glancing down at where the pen in his hand was making absent doodles on the desk calendar in front of him.

A soft tapping on his office door brought his gaze up. Brow furrowed as he debated their options, he raised a hand to impatiently gesture the intruder into the room. A slight young man, his expression harried, juggled a large stack of manila folders, three-ring binders, and a sheaf of papers as he negotiated opening the door.

He took two steps into the office and hesitated, beginning to stammer uncomfortably, "Er… Ms. Cason asked me to bring…" He stuttered, his eyes darting between Tyler and Cullen before he swallowed hard and started over, "Um, she said…" He paused, and then continued in a rush, "This is some of the…ah…it's the information you requested, sirs,"

His voice was diffident, his expression still nervous and twitchy even after having served at the Hoover for a month. Recognizing the youngster, Cullen sighed and nodded at the newly fledged intern, trying to ease the scowl on his face enough so the young man wouldn't quiver to a full stop in the middle of his office.

He pointed impatiently to a spot on his desk, silently ordering that the load be placed on the corner. The ability to ignore the presence of interns was a habit deeply ingrained in most senior agents, and he swiftly dismissed the man from his thoughts, turning his gaze back on his New York counterpart to continue their conversation, "I think it'd be best to go ahead and set up the meet. Try to negotiate. Use the card to get Dr. Brennan freed." He waited for the expected objection.

Just as easily as the Deputy Director, Tyler ignored the young man who was attempting to sort the folders and binders onto the desk. He shook his head and eyed Cullen dourly, "Jenkins isn't going to go for it. Not unless you send Agent Booth with the card." His scowl matched the one that formed on Cullen's face at the thought. He rolled his head, trying to ease the overly tense muscles in his neck and shoulders before he sighed again. "This bastard's tough, Sam."

"Yeah," Cullen frowned thoughtfully and then sighed in resignation, "Jenkins said he'd call us. All we can do now is wait. My bet is that he wants Dr. Brennan safely on his own territory before he sets up the meet."

Tyler nodded his confirmation of the other agent's summation. "That would be my guess, too. But I'd like to have a plan in place for when he _does_ call…"

"Oh, damn!" The muttered oath resounded in the room, swiftly followed by the thud of two binders hitting the floor. Another binder slid off the stack of folders to knock over a brass and glass picture frame on Cullen's desk and the frame skidded off the desk to hit the floor with a clatter. The rustling flutter of freed papers wafted through the pregnant silence that followed the initial noise as a folder calmly continued to dump its contents over the side of the desk.

Cullen and Tyler rolled identical glowers over to pin the hapless young intern who squirmed and flushed and then suddenly started babbling. "I'm so sorry…oh damn…they slipped, Director Cullen…I…Sorry…I'll just…" He crouched and started blindly grabbing for the loose papers that had hit the floor with one hand while the other hand picked up one binder and tried to place it on top of the precarious stack of folders on the desk.

The small pile started to slide again, threatening to dump the rest of the information into an avalanche of paperwork that would follow the picture frame. Cullen moved swiftly, leaning forward and placing a blocking hand on top of the pile, stopping its forward motion just shy of having the contents of yet another manila folder land in his lap. Cullen shot Tyler a filthy glower as a hastily stifled snort of amusement escaped the man.

"Jason!" Cullen's growl brought the young intern's head up. Wide blue eyes peeked fearfully over the edge of the desk at him as the kid swallowed audibly and remained crouched, his right hand frozen in the act of reaching for the next binder.

"Sir?" the question was a squeak more reminiscent of a teen going through puberty than the voice of a young-twenty FBI intern.

Cullen sighed, closing his eyes. "Just leave it." His exasperation was palpable.

"B…but…"

The narrowing of Cullen's eyes stopped the next squeak and the young man swallowed audibly, nodded jerkily, and dropped the binder he held back down onto the floor. He straightened up, his hand leaving the pile on the desk as Cullen gave it a steadying shove away from the edge. "Um…"

"Out."

Cullen jerked his chin in the direction of the door and the intern flushed hotly and nodded, his voice finally lowering back into its normal register, "Yessir…" He spun on a heel and darted out of the door, pulling it shut behind him as he fled the room.

Another poorly disguised chortle of laughter brought Cullen's glower to rest on Tyler. The other man raised his hands in appeasement, and then grinned in open commiseration with Cullen's plight. Shaking his head again in exasperation, Cullen gingerly lifted his hand from the pile of paper, ready to slap it back down if the small mountain made any new motion. He sighed.

Tyler eyed the pile and chuckled slightly, guessing lightly, "Less than a month?"

Cullen grunted an affirmative as he leaned back into his chair, eyeing the mess with a morose eye. "Just a bit over…" Mild amusement finally edged into his face before he sighed again and groused about the intern program, "I _hate_ their first three months; they're always so _jumpy_…" He shook his head as Tyler chuckled at his beleaguered mutter. "Where were we?"

Tyler sobered swiftly and leaned forward. "We need to come up with a game plan, Sam."

"Yeah." Cullen frowned, his eyes focusing on something in the middle distance as he tried out a few scenarios in his mind. "Okay," his eyes found Tyler's, holding them with an intense stare, "You're _sure_ Jenkins won't go for a trade that doesn't include Booth?"

Tyler nodded emphatically. "Yeah, I'm sure." His tone was apologetic, but there was no hesitation in his answer.

Cullen scowled, reluctantly admitting, "Well, I know Booth wouldn't have a problem with taking the risk…" His frown grew fierce as he shook his head. "But, the shape he's in, no way I'm going to let him volunteer."

Tyler waited tolerantly as Cullen paused again in thought. His patience was rewarded when Cullen spoke into the silence, his voice slow and reflective as he worked his way through an idea. "I have an agent who is very close to Booth's height and build. With a little help from our undercover gurus, I think he could pass for Booth as long as Jenkins doesn't get too close a look at him… Long enough to get a team in place, at least."

Tyler nodded, considering the idea. "Any differences in their appearance could be attributed to Booth's injuries." His tone held both an apology for the injuries that had been caused and a blunt practicality as he planned to use those same damages to good effect, "All the bruising on his face…I think we could play it up a bit use it to conceal the fact that it isn't actually Booth."

Cullen nodded, his frown remaining. "I don't like putting _any_ of my agents under the gun like this, but…"

Tyler nodded his understanding of Cullen's reluctance. Quietly, he offered, "Once we get the location for the meet, we can set up a trap. I know I can get a couple of teams down here quick enough to get them into position."

"If we can convince Jenkins that he is getting both Booth and the card, we might get a chance to get him in custody…" Cullen raised an eyebrow at Tyler, "For kidnapping, at the very least…"

Tyler made a moue of distaste that ended with a one-shouldered shrug of resignation. "I'd rather put him away for the drugs, Sam. You know that." He sighed. "But right now, given the situation, I'll be glad to have him on anything."

Cullen watched him for a long second, his eyes measuring the other man. Tyler met the direct gaze head-on, one eyebrow climbing in inquiry as he waited for the other man to judge his sincerity. Finally, Cullen nodded his acceptance of Tyler's words.

"Okay, then…" He leaned forward. "Let's get the details worked out _before_ we get that call…"


End file.
